Shadow World
by JBHart
Summary: When Captain Janeway and B'Elanna Torres go missing during an away team mission on an unforgiving alien world, Tom and Chakotay risk deadly peril in search of them. The story is told entirely from Tom's POV. So expect a lot of that character.
1. Guerillas in the Mist

Shadow World

Chapter One - Guerillas in the Mist

Tom Paris couldn't see past the tip of his phaser; mist draped in a heavy white curtain all around him. This wasn't the way he liked to spend an afternoon, dodging a barrage of enemy fire.

With his phaser drawn, he leaned against the rough bark of a thorny tree, spines pricking through his tunic and into his skin. A blast hit above, giving him a jolt, but he'd braced himself, and somehow kept his footing in the slimy soil. When he tried to ease around, to at least see his enemy, a sharp pain brought him up short. He looked down and saw a bloody rent in his sleeve and the torn flesh of his upper arm. Oh, that's just what I need, he thought bitterly.

"Paris," Chakotay's voice seemed to meander to him on the fog, "Where are you?"

"Not sure," Tom answered. The commander could be anywhere, but at least he was alive. "I can't see a thing in this soup." He looked for a sign that might indicate the commander's position, but a soft wall of white hid everything. He took a small step in order to see better, but as he did so, an explosion shook the tree and showered him with splinters.

"Don't move, Tom," Chakotay warned, "Looks like they can see us."

Tom would have complied, but he was sure he could get a better look. Crouching lower, He tried once more to peer around the trunk. Another blast came, a pinpoint streaking through the mist. There came a thundering explosion, and the tree shuttered with a terrible splintering sound. He covered his head just as a heavy bough crashed down behind him. Too close.

"I said stay put!" ordered Chakotay.

"I think I know where that last shot came from," said Tom, ignoring the order, "I saw it, just above the ridge, maybe twenty meters from camp."

"You think you can hit it?"

"One shot," Tom assured him, mustering up a certainty in his voice that he didn't exactly feel. To get a better grip on his phaser, he switched it to the uninjured side.

After a brief pause, Chakotay responded, "I'll distract them. Make it a good one."

Tom shifted his weight and leveled his phaser. After two seconds, he saw flashes of light streak from a position a few meters to his left. Enemy fire bombarded Chakotay's position. Without hesitation, he stepped out and fired - a direct hit. Orange heat ripped the air, radiating in an intense wave that knocked Tom off his feet.

He pulled himself up, spit mud and wiped it from his eyes. Looking up, he saw a chaotic frenzy of movement ahead. The enemy was running off, but still taking potshots at the two Starfleet officers as they fled.

"Let's move," Chakotay said as he rushed past, firing on the deadly adversaries.

Slipping in his first attempt to get up, Tom soon found his footing, and followed in pursuit. But by the time he caught up, the fog had settled back in. The aliens looked like ghosts darting one way, and another, until one by one, the mist swallowed them whole.

He stood still, listening, but the swamp became eerily quiet, with only the sound of his breathing and water dripping from the dense foliage. It was as if their attackers had never existed.

Blood oozed out in a steady flow down his wounded arm. It was throbbing with pain. The laceration was deep, but after a closer look he decided he could manage all right with the med kit.

A chill came over him. The dampness in the air and the constant dripping from above had him almost soaked through. The only heat came from the alien's weapon, which was spewing black smoke. The devastated gun had rested on long spindly legs. It was now lying on its side, curled up like a charred metal spider. If there's one, there's bound to be more, Tom thought.

He moved back toward camp and found Chakotay crouching by the body of one of the attackers. Apparently, the commander had hit it in the firefight and it fell, its gangly gray appendages spilling out some of the precious supplies it had tried to steal during the attack.

"Is it dead?" Tom asked, pausing a few steps behind him.

"I'd say so." Chakotay replied. He lifted a flap of clothing to examine the creature.

Tom craned his neck to look. He wished he hadn't. The alien's grayish flesh writhed and shrank away, revealing a wraithlike grin as the creature's pointy yellow teeth were bared to the bone. He stared in fascination, instinctively covering his wounded arm. There was a prickling at the back of his neck, when the alien flesh pooled underneath the sinewy bones.

Chakotay made a choking sound and released the clothing. The corpse expelled such a putrid vapor that Tom stumbled away and coughed to dislodge the stench in his throat. "Great," he said, eyes tearing, "We're fighting the undead."

Chakotay nodded, but didn't seem to notice Tom's aversion, or the remark. He examined the body more closely, and uttered a sound of surprise. He reached into the twisted strands of clothing and cautiously picked from them a small object.

"What is it?" Tom said, stepping closer and kneeling beside him, trying his best to ignore the rotten carcass at their feet.

Chakotay handed the object to Tom; it was a combadge. The aliens had gotten to the captain first.

"I should have known," Chakotay stood and started toward what was left of their camp, "This mission didn't feel right from the beginning."

As Tom watched his friend walk away, he ran his thumb over the smooth emblem. The team couldn't be dead. He had to believe that; he'd only spoken to B'Elanna hours ago. He clenched his hand around the precious artifact, a symbol of a peace mission, gone horribly wrong.


	2. A Desperate Flight

Tom rolled his aching shoulder in long, slow circles. The pack he'd been carrying for over an hour had dug in, causing his injured arm to ache. He checked the bandage and found it was coming loose. Maybe something in the atmosphere worked against the bonding agent, he didn't know. Muttering a low curse, he pressed it gingerly back into place. This bandage would have to last. They couldn't afford to open up another dermapatch packet with half their supplies, including medical, destroyed in the attack or purposefully left behind, in exchange for a faster pace.

A peculiar dampening field commingled with the heavy mist, draping like a thick blanket over all low-lying areas. A communications station was established in an interference-free zone at the top of a steep ridge. Difficult as the hike to CommBase was, it was the only point in the area from which was possible to contact the Team and Voyager.

Their steps had been quick at first, thoughts of their endangered comrades in Delta Team driving them on. Only now, with darkness falling, they slowed down, picking their way through the dense undergrowth. The planet's sun, that in midday looked pale as if it shone from behind a thick layer of gauze, was now barely a pinprick of light, and their uneasiness grew with the deepening shadows.

A palpable fear hung between the two men as they hiked through this dangerous alien territory. Although it was left unspoken, they both knew the team was very likely massacred, or savagely attacked as they themselves had been, betrayed by an alien race that feigned peaceful intent.

A deep shadow permeated the primitive trail, but flashlights were of little help. They served only to illuminate the water droplets suspended in the air around them, effectively blinding the men to the trail, and making them susceptible to its hidden dangers. Holding fast to their phaser rifles, they moved stealthily, keenly aware of their vulnerability to the strange and vile creatures that inhabited this world.

Chakotay stopped to take a tricorder reading, wiping moisture from the instrument with his sleeve as he scanned the area. "I'm barely getting the signal, but it's there. In about thirty paces we should be at the base of the ridge."

"Any life readings?" Tom asked, hoping against hope that their friends were still alive.

"None," Chakotay shook his head, concentration forming a deep furrow in his brow, "But life readings would be weak at best from this elevation." He put the instrument back into its pouch at his hip. "Keep your rifle ready. We didn't detect anything before those creatures attacked us earlier." Chakotay gripped his own rifle, "Let's keep moving," he said, and stepped into the overgrowth.

Continuing on the pitch-black trail, a mere thirty paces seemed like a kilometer. Overhanging plants, some with sharp invasive thorns, grew in a tangled web across the path. Chakotay slashed ruthlessly at the angry mob of plants that prodded and cut them. Tom had never seen the commander so determined; his jaw was set and he moved in a clipped and controlled manner. Chakotay would to see this thing through to the end, Tom knew, no matter what lay ahead.

They came to a stop at an outcropping of rock jutting from the undergrowth, "It's here." Chakotay said pushing aside some branches, "The base of the ridge."

Tom strained to see in the darkness, "Looks a lot different at night." The massive wall that formed the base was the color of the night and towered above them, a sinister black monolith. He remembered B'Elanna's comments when she first stood at the top, in the beginning, when the team gathered at CommBase. The two of them had peered over the edge of the precipice, at the white fog covering the sheer drop below, not knowing what lay beneath. "I'd better watch my step," she'd said to him, "or I'll have to rely on your rusty climbing skills to save me." He'd glanced up, a word of reproof on his lips, but with just one look at her, his defenses fell. She was smiling. Her beautiful brown eyes sparkled with devilish kind of mischief only she possessed. He'd wanted to take her then, hold the warm curve of her body next to his. He would do anything to save , and that was the promise he held in his eyes when he looked at her. An understanding of that commitment passed between them in that brief moment. Then came a call of greeting, and they turned to face the blue-green delegation advancing up the slope toward them.

Now at the base of the ridge, Tom looked up, seeing in his mind's eye the edge of the cliff, and wishing to God he could've stopped this disaster from ever happening.

"I can't contact the base from here," said Chakotay, "Signal's weaker." He puzzled over the new readings from the tricorder, "Damn it, this doesn't make any sense."

"Nothing's made sense since we got here," Tom placed a hand on the sheer cliff face. "It'd be a hell of a lot easier if we could somehow get to the other side of this rock."

"Easier, but it'd take another hour or more to get through that tangled mess surrounding it. We don't have that much time." Chakotay jerked his thumb up, gesturing toward the cliff wall, "The way I see it, the only way is up."

They felt along the wall for the ropes the team left there. It was a frustrating search, vines felt like ropes in the murky night. A frustrating few minutes passed before Tom was able to find them and test them for tautness. When he tugged the ropes, pain in his arm flared. He'd have to set that pain aside if he wanted to make the climb. Well, Tom, he thought, now we'll see how rusty your climbing skills really are.

On Chakotay's go ahead, Tom set down his rifle, and removed his pack to retrieve the climbing equipment. He had barely opened the pack when Chakotay motioned for him to be still.

"Did you hear that?" Chakotay whispered and crouched down beside him, "Listen."

Tom did so, and for a few excruciating moments, he heard nothing; the night was as still as death. Then, from the bowels of the hidden forest, came a distinct snapping sound, as of teeth cracking on bones. Tom's jaw reflexively clenched. He carefully picked up his rifle. This was the first animal sound they had heard since the attack. Adrenaline surged in his blood, so that now he heard his heartbeat too.

Chakotay motioned to an outcropping of rock at the base of the ridge. Tom took one step toward the shelter when something struck him from behind. Dazed, he found himself flat on his back on the mucky forest floor, blinking away blue splotches that swam before his eyes. Sounds of struggle brought him back to awareness. He saw his rifle lying adjacent to him just out of his reach. He rolled and snatched it up in one swift movement, focusing his eyes on the source of the commotion.

He was unprepared for what he saw. By the dim light of the discarded lamp, he saw Chakotay. He lay motionless, bony gray claws sunk deep into his neck. The creature was on top of him, bearing its yellow fangs and hissing, about to rip the commander to shreds. Instinct had Tom's rifle firing in an instant. A shrill cry issued from deep within the creature's belly, then it collapsed upon its victim.

Rushing forward, Tom attempted to push the beast off, but it was as unwieldy as a sack of rocks. To make matters worse, a putrid stench issuing from the creature, assailed him. Tom's stomach lurched, but he held it in check. When he pushed again, his arms broke through the creature's paper-thin skin, and sank into the body that was decomposing at an alarming rate. As he slid in toward the creature, gelatinous globs of internal organs oozed between his splayed fingers. When he found solid bone, he grabbed it and with all his might shoved the fetid cadaver away. Dizziness swept over him and his stomach heaved again. This time he held nothing back.


	3. A Hunted Thing

On the dank forest floor, Tom was on hands and knees, in a cold sweat, hoping that when he did open his eyes, he would find the world had stopped spinning. With each draw of breath, he concentrated on the earthy aroma of decaying leaves, rather than the rank odor of an alien corpse. Winded and sick, he was in no condition to put up a fight if another attack came, but he knew he had to master himself quickly. Chakotay could be dying for all he knew, and Tom was too ill to help him.

Clumps of the alien's innards crawled down his sleeves like so many snails. Repulsed, he quickly peeled off the offensive tunic and flung it aside. Feeling a bit more stable, he reached for his pack, which he found lying just behind him, and searched for something to sanitize his hands. As he cleaned up, he kept a weary vigil over the surrounding area. He would be vulnerable, if the aliens attacked while he administered first aid, but that couldn't be helped.

With his hands properly sanitized, he began a superficial examination of Chakotay's condition. Much to Tom's relief, the commander was breathing fairly steadily. Three puncture marks along the side of his neck where the monster had seized him, ran with blood, but it was not excessive. Miraculously, the creature hadn't penetrated any arteries, but the bruising it left behind gave the grotesque impression of a gripping three-fingered claw. Tom frowned and glanced at the carcass that had once been their attacker. How many more of those vicious animals were out there?

Turning back to his patient, and examining further, he felt a large swelling just above the commander's hairline, a possible concussion. The scratches on his face and hands, told not of a fight, but of traveling through the jungle's thick and spiny undergrowth. Chakotay looked to be in fairly good condition, considering. Tom ran a tricorder scan to be sure.

"What happened?" Chakotay's voice, raspy and strained, gave Tom a start.

He looked at the commander with a raised a brow, "Another visit from the undead." He replied in an unsuccessful attempt at nonchalance, "Don't worry. I killed it."

Chakotay tried to sit up, but Tom eased him back, "Don't get up. I haven't finished examining you."

Not ungratefully, Chakotay complied, lying back on the damp ground, "How many were there?"

"Just the one," Tom said, still studying the tricorder, "Looks like you have a slight concussion. But that's about it, except for the puncture wounds in your neck. You're a lucky man, Chakotay."

"You've got a strange definition of luck. I feel like hell," Chakotay winced as he put a hand to his neck. His eyes widened when his fingers found the bloody perforations, "What are they, vampires?"

"Here," Tom said, handing him a square of gauze infused with a clotting agent, "Press that on the wounds, it'll help stop the bleeding." He reached into the med kit and picked up a hypo. After adjusting the dosage, he injected medication into Chakotay's arm. "Now, you can sit up, but easy, I don't want you to overdo it just yet."

"Okay, Mom."

Tom gripped his arm and helped him up, "Feel dizzy at all?"

"A little."

"Give it a few minutes for the medication to kick in."

Tom now set to work on replacing the defective bandage on his own arm. Sticky alien slime had worked under the bandage, giving his stomach another turn. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. He'd seen two of the creatures melt away like butter in a frying pan, and he didn't want any of that contaminant in his body. As he applied a new bandage though, he realized it was too late, "Damn it." The contagion was in his blood already.

"You all right?" Chakotay asked, staring at him. Despite his own discomfort, concern for his friend was evident in his dark eyes, "Were you injured?"

"No, I'm good," he replied, "Just anxious to get moving." Suddenly too cold and still a bit shaky from the ordeal, he found a t-shirt in his pack and pulled it on. The fabric was thin, but the dry fibers drew the moisture of sweat and dew from his body, lending him a feeling of warmth he knew wouldn't last long. Moisture hung heavy in the air around him, manifesting itself in the constant formation of icy water droplets on his skin and in his hair. No, he wouldn't be warm and dry again until he was back on Voyager.

When Chakotay's wounds were bandaged and he felt well enough to move on, they picked up their scattered belongings and resumed their quest to CommBase, this time with a deeper respect for things unseen. Climbing left them open to attack, so they decided to journey around, through the entanglement of the trail. Their own lives, as well as the lives of Janeway's team, depended on them achieving their goal, and they would do their damnedest.

Tom was anxious to get reinforcements, to form a workable plan to find the Delta Team and bring them home, but the possibility of returning to the ship without B'Elanna tore at his soul. Logic would dictate what course he should take, but right now, his desire to fight anything that stood in his way of finding her, dead or alive, was like a fire blazing within him.

And there was something else.

An idea was growing in his mind that defied description. A kind of awakening that was at once primitive and elusive-like a hunted thing. The feeling was so peculiar; he imagined it could only be his mind's response to severe stress. So with great effort he concentrated on the task at hand, and that was reaching CommBase.

The sooner they got there, the better.


	4. From a Killer's Eyes

Tom and Chakotay edged out of the tangle of trailing plants, and thankfully stepped into an open area. Peppered with stones and low-lying plants, the ground here was firmer than in the jungle. The path ahead laid dark and foreboding, but they could see the lights of the CommBase unit, and that was good enough.

The fog had thinned considerably, so their lamps were now more efficient. Light swept from side to side as they made their way to the top of the slope, by turns revealing its hidden features and plunging them into darkness again.

It was one of these sweeps that grabbed Chakotay's attention. He halted and shone the light straight ahead.

Puzzled, Tom paused to look, "What is it?"

"Something's up there," Chakotay's light found the object again. It lay across their path, and appeared to be human.

In one fleeting moment, Tom saw fear in the commander's eyes. Concern for their own safety left them as they hurried toward the inert form lying in a clump on the stony slope.

As they moved closer, the lamps exposed the body in gory detail. Tom felt a sinking sensation; the sight of it horrified him. Lying on the cold ground, with life irrevocably torn away, were the remains of a human being, clothed in what could barely be identified as a Starfleet uniform. The body was mangled beyond recognition, with large pieces missing, as if wild animals had been feasting on it. There was no way to tell just by looking whether it had been a man or a woman.

The bone cracking sound they heard earlier at the base of the ridge, echoed in Tom's mind. As he looked down at the remains, his throat tightened, it no longer resembled anyone he had ever known. His heart raced, and the world began a teetering rotation, as if he were standing on some nightmarish carousel. Chakotay was saying something, but Tom couldn't hear.

But he saw…it was as if a veil had lifted, revealing to him the horrible events that took place on this rise. It was more than seeing. He was there. Running, chasing down a quarry that was clumsy and scared. Blood surged through his veins with each pump of his savage heart. How gratifying it was to overcome this prey, to rip the very life from it. This was vengeance for the lives already lost, and all of them would pay with their own lives for what they'd done. Every last one. There would be no need for weapons, just tooth and claw. He would show the others how easy it was, that they should not be afraid…how simple it was to defeat this cowardly enemy after all.

Tom looked down at his hands. They were warm and coated with fresh blood that trickled off his fingertips. But they weren't his hands; they were the terrible claws of a killer.

"No," he could think nothing else. "No!" he repeated with added vehemence, and wiped his hands on his shirt. It wasn't coming off; the smears he'd made on his shirt had spread until it was saturated in crimson.

From a great distance, someone he could barely see was shaking him, and suddenly a lightening bolt struck, or that's what it felt like. Stumbling, he blinked repeatedly and realized that Chakotay had belted him…a good one too. He sat down hard on the ground and rubbed his jaw.

Chakotay crouched down in front of him, "I'm sorry. I couldn't think of anything else to do."

Tom gazed up, bleary eyed, "Remind me…" he said between gulps of air, "never to pick a fight…with you."

"What's going on, Tom? One minute you were fine and the next-we're in a dangerous situation here. We have to keep our heads, or we won't make it out. Do you understand?"

"Completely. But you don't know what happened to me," Tom searched for words to explain but he found none. They didn't have time for a drawn out explanation of the effects of alien matter in his bloodstream. He began again, "That's Ensign Renning, over there. The body."

"How do you know?"

"I saw his face." Tom said, remembering the vision. "He was running. I saw…everything." Through the killer's eyes, he thought.

Chakotay did not reply immediately, but stood and studied the remains again. "We'll discuss this later," he turned and scooped up his weapon from the dirt, "Right now, we need to get over to that blasted CommBase."

Tom picked himself up and adjusted his pack, tottering a little as he stood. The comm unit wasn't far now, and he took a couple of shaky steps toward it. On the third step, he felt himself dissipate in the familiar tug of a transporter beam.


	5. Prodigal Sons

The macabre arena in which Tom spent several gruesome last hours shimmered away like a bad dream, and his next step hit the smooth floor of the transporter chamber. For a moment, he didn't want to move; fearing it was some twisted trick, but when he saw Tuvok standing stoically by the transporter operator, he decided it must be a miracle.

"Tuvok, how…?"

"Your questions will be answered in due time, Lieutenant," Tuvok stated, giving Tom the distinct impression that no answers would be coming from him anytime soon. Dazed and with a little trepidation, Tom stepped down from the platform. The solid reassurance of Voyager's smooth surface soothed his rattled nerves.

Seconds later, the transporter activated again, and Chakotay materialized onto platform, with the same kind of bewildered expression Tom must have had.

"Commander," Tuvok said, signaling a greeting with a slight nod of his head.

"Tuvok," Chakotay looked from the Vulcan to Tom and then back again, "What's going on?"

"The captain has ordered a debriefing after you have reported to sickbay."

"The captain?" Chakotay responded in disbelief, "She's here?"

As if in answer, the captain's voice hailed them over the comm, "Janeway to transporter room. Do you have them?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

Chakotay stepped forward. "Captain."

"Welcome home Chakotay," replied Janeway, in a pleased voice.

"What happened down there? How many casualties were there? Paris and I found Ensign—"

"After your ordeal," Janeway brusquely cut in, "I believe your first priority is to report to sickbay. When the doctor is satisfied as to your condition, you and Lt. Paris will report to my ready room for a debriefing."

"Aye, Captain," Chakotay said, lilting the last syllable as a question instead of an acknowledgement. He shot Tom an exasperated look and stepped away from the comm.

"Captain," Tom said, "is B'Elanna—"

"She's on board, and she's alright. I'll inform her of your return," Janeway reassured, "And Tom-welcome back."

"Thank you, Captain," He cast his gaze down and slowly let out his breath. B'Elanna was alive and out of danger, yet somehow, it wouldn't be real until he saw her, held her in his arms again. Only then would he believe the horrible events had really ended.

"Tuvok," he heard Chakotay say, "How many members of the away team made it back?"

With the mangled body of Ensign Renning still imprinted on his mind, Tom looked up.

Tuvok's expression was unreadable. "Sir, it is by the Captain's orders that I refrain from speaking to you of the mission at this time."

Chakotay stared at the Vulcan, his brows raised in incredulity.

"Those were my orders, sir."

Chakotay nodded in acquiescence, then turned to Tom. "Let's go, Lieutenant."

Tom returned a questioning look.

"Sickbay," Chakotay said, and gestured to the doors. "Let's go."

"Aye, sir." Tom stepped away from the transporter console.

"Do you need assistance to sickbay, Commander?"

"No. Thank you, Tuvok, we'll be fine." The doors swished open and they stepped out into the corridor.

Chakotay was in a pensive mood as they left the transporter room, and didn't offer a word to Tom as they headed toward the turbo lift.

"Odd," said Tom, breaking the silence after a few minutes.

"Hmm?" Chakotay was distant, didn't seem to hear him.

"I said, 'It's odd'— about the Captain's orders."

"They're not for us to question."

The Commander would never admit to having doubts about the captain's orders if indeed he had any. Tom knew that, but still, he felt compelled to mention his own, "We have a right to know what happened down there."

"We'll debrief in an hour or so, Tom." Chakotay rubbed his temple. "I'm sure there'll be a reasonable explanation."

The medication from the hypo would be wearing off about now. Chakotay was probably feeling the mother of all headaches coming on. Tom knew when to layoff, and resolved to say nothing else until they got to sickbay.

* * *

"State the nature of the medical emergency."

Tom was heartened by the doctor's familiar spiel. In fact, he'd started to feel a little better the moment he stepped over the threshold to sickbay.

Recognition quickly settled into the doctor's features, "So, the prodigal sons have returned. Take off your packs, why don't you? Act as if you're staying …and judging by the looks of you, you are."

Tom had forgotten he'd had the damned thing on all this time. He slipped the pack off over his aching shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Caked on mud and dirt exploded on impact, leaving a grimy starburst on the floor at his feet. His eyes followed the trail of dirt and saw that he was covered with muck, probably from head to toe.

"Mind if I get a shower first?"

"My orders are to give both of you a complete examination," replied the doctor, "mud notwithstanding."

Chakotay swayed on his feet, and Tom grasped his arm to steady him.

"Sit down, Commander," said the doctor gesturing to a biobed, and helping him from his other side.

"I can walk," he argued, "It's just a headache, that's all."

Tom noticed he didn't outright refuse the offer of assistance.

The doctor set to examining Chakotay's condition, and found the wounds on his neck. "If I'm not mistaken, these look like claw marks."

"We were attacked down there," Chakotay said, clearing his throat.

"By what, I hesitate to ask."

"They were like a cross between wild men and..." He looked to Tom for help.

"Wolves."

"Wolfmen," ventured the doctor, "Well, I hope you weren't bitten. I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian." He smiled slightly, looking pleased with his statement. "Now, make yourselves at home gentlemen. I plan to run a full battery of tests. You'll be here for a while."

Tom sat on the nearest biobed and the doctor examined the dressing on his arm.

"Was this bandage from the same batch as the commander's?" the doctor asked, frowning.

"I think so," Tom said, "At least, they were in the same medkit."

"They're no good. See how there's little adhesion to the wound? You were lucky to get back before infection set in. "

Tom thought about the alien slime that had gotten under the patch. "I feel lucky," he said, hoping saying it might make it be so. He shuddered when he recalled the hallucination he'd had when he saw Ensign Renning's mangled body-through the killer's eyes. A cold chill came over him, and he suddenly felt queasy.

"Lie down Mr. Paris," said the doctor, "How do you feel?" he scrutinized the diagnostic display above the biobed.

"Terrible."

"How precise." As he analyzed the display, his frown deepened. "The tansporter's biofilters should have picked this up," he muttered, then looked intently at his patient, "Mr. Paris, _were_ you bitten by one of those…creatures?"

"Excuse me, doc?"

"You heard me, Lieutenant. _Were you bitten_?"

"I…"

The sickbay doors swished open, and Tom heard B'Elanna's voice "Doctor, they said that…Tom!" She rushed toward the biobed.

The doctor stepped between them, "Don't come any closer."

Tom propped himself up on an elbow, "But Doc-"

"Why?" B'Elanna demanded, "There'd better be a good reason, or I'll…"

Tom delighted in the sight of her, storming in like a wild tornado; turning on a dime to confront the doctor. She stood, fists clenched, ready to put up a fight, and that's exactly the way he wanted to see her; so full of life.

"Mr. Paris is quarantined until I can run more tests." The doctor appeared to be miffed, but kept his cool with the half-Klingon woman. "Since you are his wife, you deserve to know why." He looked at her for a moment, sending the message that he would not continue without her steady compliance.

B'Elanna took a deep breath and nodded.

"I have discovered foreign matter in his bloodstream. I will need to run a few more tests to discover the nature of the contaminant before I can allow him to interact with anyone. It's strictly for your safety and that of the crew."

"B'Elanna." Janeway stood at the door, arms folded. B'Elanna had caused such a stir that no one had noticed the captain enter. "The doctor knows what's best."

"Aye, Captain," B'Elanna said reluctantly. Her stiff shoulders perceptively relaxed. She gave her husband a smile, and shrugged.

Tom returned the smile, but a darkness prodded him. B'Elanna's eyes seemed distant. Maybe it was the separation, the fear that they had lost each other that kept her from softening completely.

"Captain," said Chakotay. He was still sitting up on his biobed, but he had a hand up to the wound on his neck. "We thought you were dead. How did you get back? What happened to the away team? Why did the Allorians lead us into a trap down there?"

Allorians. At the sound of that name, Tom felt hatred flare up inside him. It was those blue-green aliens that got them into this debacle, and if he ever saw one again, he was sure he would kill it.

"All will be explained in the debriefing," replied Janeway, "That will have to suffice for now, Commander." Her expression was unapologetic. "I just wanted to come down to see personally how my two lost officers were doing. We'll not hinder you doctor. B'Elanna, let's go." She turned, "It's good to have you back. Rest assured, both of you. Your questions will all be answered very soon." She offered them, a placating motherly smile, as if she'd just baked them a batch of cookies.

It wasn't like the captain to mollify them like this. She was always straightforward in her dealings with her senior officers. It was one of the qualities that Tom admired in her. He felt there was something strange about it, but frowned and shrugged it off. There was no way to even try to make sense of all this now, since they knew very little of how the mission ended.

"Captain," said the doctor, "I'll send you my report as soon as it's complete."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Janeway exited sickbay. B'Elanna turned to leave, but seeing that the doctor had turned to select some medical instruments, she brushed by Tom's bed and grasped his hand.

Tom held it for a moment expecting warm reassurance, but instead, a chilling sensation coursed like an ice floe down his arm. Startled, he looked into her eyes. They were dark, devoid of emotion, and it seemed that in their shadowy depths he saw death. He ripped his hand free; the fingers were numb. But she didn't falter from her cold gaze, it seemed to penetrate through flesh and bone down to his soul. He sensed a keen desperation in her attitude. She was searching for something, and whatever it was he did not want her to find it.

"Doc?" he said, looking away, purposefully breaking eye contact, and disrupting her concentration, "How long did you say I'd be here?"

"I didn't," he replied, "An hour, maybe more."

Tom looked back at B'Elanna and smirked. "Then I guess you'd better leave, honey." He controlled an urge to confront her, but was unable to keep sarcasm from edging into his voice.

"Get well, Tom," she said, but she didn't mean it. Obviously perturbed at being put off, she turned away abruptly and marched off to the sickbay doors. He sat up and watched her leave, flexing his fingers and rubbing them to get the feeling back. That woman was not his wife. She was an imposter, a mortal enemy.

He found himself hopping off the biobed and walking toward the sickbay doors. It was in his mind to follow her.

"Just a minute Mr. Paris," said the Doctor, "I have not released you yet. Go back or I'll put a confinement field on you."

Tom complied and slowly got back up on the bed. He lay down and continued to work at the numb fingers in his right hand. "Chakotay," he said finally, "I think we have a problem."


	6. Transformation

Tom felt like a lab rat. Four hours had passed since he'd first arrived in sickbay; he never thought he could withstand so many tests in that length of time, and the doctor showed no sympathy. Tom envied Chakotay; he had been released long ago and probably had already had a decent meal, whereas Tom had had nothing but poking and prodding and a bland nutritional supplement bar that in his opinion could be put to better use as insulation in an EVA suit.

Sitting in sickbay for so long, he had time to think about the interaction he'd had with B'Elanna. Earlier, when he'd expressed his concerns about what he'd felt when she touched him, Chakotay had nodded and appeared to understand, but suggested that the foreign matter in his bloodstream had had an adverse effect on him. Maybe it caused heightened sensitivity that in turn made him susceptible to hallucination. The doctor concurred, and Tom agreed to stay in sickbay until the doctor was sure of his physical and mental health.

If they were right, he'd have a lot of making up to do with B'Elanna. Sending her out of sickbay like that, just at the moment she had tried to reach out to him…God, he felt like such a cad.

The doctor came back from his workstation. "One more sample and that should do it."

"That's what you said the last time." Tom held out his arm. "And the time before that. Why can't you just use the tricorder?"

"Mr. Paris," the doctor said matter-of-factly, "Medicine is more art than science." Tom winced as the doctor jabbed the needle into the vein, and drew out a scarlet hued sample. "Besides, I don't mind getting the 'hands on' experience that doctors long ago used to get on a daily basis. It helps me get in touch with my roots, so to speak."

"Uh huh," replied Tom, as he took the square of gauze that the doctor offered. "Well, I think I mind. I prefer the 'hands off' experiences."

"I need to examine the nuclei in the cells; Blood samples are the best way for me to do that."

"How sick am I, Doc?" Tom held the square gingerly on the puncture.

"It's difficult to say," the doctor replied thoughtfully, "On the one hand, your as fit as you were before the mission, strangely maybe even more so, but the contaminant has melded with your DNA and I don't know what else it could do to you. I believe I will be able to prepare medications to inhibit the contaminant's hallucinogenic effects, but a cure is what we want. Do you agree?"

"Sure." Tom responded, " but am I…contagious?"

"Thankfully, no. You will be able to leave sickbay shortly, if this last test is all I need. Of course, this would be much simpler if we could get tissue samples from one of those 'wolfmen' as you call them."

"I never called them…oh, forget it." Fatigue had begun to settle in his bones making him too tired to argue in minutiae.

With the last test completed, he was finally released from sickbay. The doctor convinced the captain to postpone the debriefing, with the caveat that Tom go straight to his quarters and get some sleep, a point to which he readily agreed.

* * *

The door to his quarters swished open, and he walked in. So tired, he didn't remember how he got to his quarters, just that he was there, and it was where he wanted to be. He tossed the dirty pack into a chair, making a mental note to put it in the disposal for recycling when he was finished unpacking it.

"Lights at seventy-five percent." The room that had at first seemed too sterile and cold without B'Elanna in it, brightened up, making him feel a little less lonely. A smile crossed his lips when he saw her slippers lying in the middle of the floor. He could imagine her kicking them off in her rush to get ready for her shift. He picked them up and set them neatly by the bed.

When he straightened, he saw her jacket lying across the bed, and the bag she decided to leave behind when she packed for the mission with the Allorians. It was unzipped and sitting in exactly the same position in which he remembered it when they left three days ago. He studied the room. Everything was exactly as they'd left it. She hadn't been back to the quarters at all. This realization left him feeling uneasy, and the memory of her dark eyes, and the iciness he'd seen in them flooded back.

Closing his eyes, he took a calming breath. He wanted to be rid of that image of his wife, so desperate and…animalistic. It was good she wasn't here. He would have time to shower and rest before seeing her again. The doctor would have that medication ready soon, he hoped, so he could be free of the damned hallucinations and be able to relax again.

After showering, and getting into warm dry clothes, Tom found he was too exhausted to even eat. Sleep was the only thing on his mind so he shoved the bag and clothes off the bed, and crawled on top of the covers. His head sank into the soft pillow. Eyelids heavy and closed, shutting out the world, he drifted as if on a warm balmy sea.

Random images from the past few days floated through his drowsy mind like flotsam from a shipwreck. The image of the Allorian he met at the beginning of the mission came back to him; the tall blue alien had been friendly. B'Elanna's laughter floated past, she was amused at something he said in the transporter room before they left. "You idiot," she'd said good-humouredly. Then there was darkness, a place where he could rest, but it was a trap…they had to get out of there.

Tom's eyes shot open. Someone had come in his quarters. Lifting his head off the pillow, he saw B'Elanna, "Hey…" he began softly, then he saw a flash, "Hey!" he exclaimed as he rolled off the bed narrowly escaping the daqtagh she'd plunged into the pillow. Gritting her teeth, she yanked the blade free.

His heart hammered in his chest as adrenaline rushed into his bloodstream. There was no time to think, she crossed the bed in one leap and lunged the blade at him again. Pain seared his forearm as he deflected the blow. Blood droplets spattered her face, and she half laughed, half snarled and came at him again.

Dodging the knife, he grabbed her wrist, and turned her around until he had her body in a tight grip. She struggled like a thing possessed. "B'Elanna…" he said between gasps, "Please…stop!" He held firm and tried to wrangle the blade away from her.

She suddenly bent low. His feet came off the floor and he felt the solid jab of the nightstand in his shoulder blade as he crashed into it. He looked up and saw that the weapon was no longer in her hands. It lay on the floor within his reach.

He wrapped his fingers around the handle, gripping it fast, but before he could move, he felt the weight of her come down hard on him, and a solid object connected smartly with the back of his head. His mind faltered with the blow and he thought he would pass out. She was going to kill him! By instinct, he twisted and flung his arm back, and he felt the soft yielding of flesh as the knife penetrated through.

Tom released the weapon, and a strangled, gurgling sound followed as she slumped over to the floor. Tom stared in shock at the horror before him. The knife was plunged to the hilt in the side of her chest, blood growing out from it in a crimson ring.

She gasped, her mouth open in a silent plea. She reached a hand out to him and he took it automatically. It was warm; nothing of the previous antagonistic feelings came from her this time. Blood seeped from his wound to their clasped hands seeming to bind them together. "God…" He felt as if his own life were ebbing from him. Tears blurred his vision. "B'Elanna."

He tapped his combadge, his voice was choked and strained. "Paris to Sickbay..." As the words left his lips, he stared in horror and amazement. A drastic change grew over her features. As the final breath left her body, her skin took on a smooth bluish hue, and her eyes grew larger, her mouth stretched out wide and the blood transformed into a translucent blue.

 _Shape shifters._

He dropped the hand and backed away. He'd just killed an Allorian.


	7. A Shot from the Doc

Tom sat on the edge of his bed, forearm wrapped in a bloody towel, with the body of the Allorian stretched out at his feet where it had fallen. Chakotay arrived a few minutes after the assault in answer to Tom's call.

The commander had come alone, no security had been alerted...yet. He studied the body intently. Tom kept his gaze forward, not wanting to look at the alien any more than he had to.

Chakotay straightened and walked away as if to pace, head bent in deep thought. When he reached the far side of the room, he turned. "I suspected…" he began. He shook his head. "But this leaves no doubt."

Tom looked up; he was still dazed, "I know."

The commander's dark eyes were intense, burning with pent up rage. "The away team never made it back." His voice was clipped and agitated. "Damn it!" he shook his head again in frustration. Curling his hands tightly, he looked angry enough to punch both fists through a wall. "They're still down there, Tom, and we have an Allorian in command of this ship."

"What are we going to do?"

"Round up the away team and throw them in the brig, to start with." Chakotay began to pace again. "But we can't draw out the captain's suspicions. I'll speak with Tuvok in person, and get the security team together. You get down to sickbay and get that arm taken care of."

Tom stood in protest. "I'm going with you."

"Not like that," Chakotay said motioning to the injured arm. "This will be a covert operation, that arm would draw attention." His attitude softened a bit. "Tom, you're in no condition to fight right now, and it may come to that."

Looking down, Tom saw that blood had penetrated the towel almost to the point of saturation. Chakotay was right; he had to stay out of it for now.

"Let me take care of the captain and the away team," the commander continued, "When we have them secured, we'll decide our next move."

Tom desperately wanted to be in on the action, but acquiesced with a sullen, "Aye, Sir."

As Chakotay left, Tom watched the doors slide closed then his eyes were drawn downward to the alien corpse. Hatred welled up inside him such as he had never felt before, but he had work to do. Walking over to the bathroom, he discarded the blood-soaked towel, and picked up a fresh one. The knife had sliced clean through the flesh, leaving a wide gash that bled freely from both sides of the forearm. Blood dripped in bright red spatters on the floor. Wrapping the new towel tightly around the wound, he went for the door, but turned, went back to the corpse, and knelt down. The creature's bulbous purple eyes were open and glazing over. He remembered seeing kindness in eyes like these when he'd first seen them, but now he was repulsed by bitter betrayal. Grabbing the knife at the hilt, he yanked it free. Air bubbled from the hole it left behind. It was a pitiful gurgling sound, but Tom felt no compassion for this creature. It had taken the image of his wife, and turned it into a vile thing, and that was unforgivable.

He stood up and went for the door again, this time crossing the threshold and locking the door behind him.

* * *

"State the nature—"

Tom held out his arm as he came into sickbay, not offering to discuss the details.

"Sit down, Lieutenant," said the doctor, refraining from any form of small talk. It seemed as if he understood that serious action was taking place on Voyager. So he silently unwrapped the arm and set to work.

Tom turned the knife in his other hand, transfixed by the odd mix of blue and red blood on its razor-sharp blade. He wondered if he would use it again, and hoped not. The thought of stabbing another being that so resembled his crewmates repulsed him.

The doctor looked up from his ministrations with a raised brow. "Should I prepare for a triage?" he said, as he ran the anabolic protoplaser over the wound. "By the way your toying with that thing, I'm wondering if there are going to be casualties."

"I don't know," Tom said, feeling the heat from the protoplaser as it sealed the wound. Tension eased somewhat along with the pain, helping him to think more clearly. "I would recommend it, to be on the safe side."

"I see." The doctor turned the arm over and began to close up the other side. "The captain didn't come in for an examination after the mission, nor any of the other members of the away team. I find that quite disturbing."

"Why didn't you mention it before?"

"The captain's orders," replied the doctor, closely examining his work. "But now, I sense that the orders are null and void."

"How do you know?"

"With my suspicions piqued, I thought it would be best to monitor ship-wide communications for a while."

Tom looked at the doctor with interest. "What have you found out?"

"The captain has been secured, and three others." The doctor took a step back. "We're finished here."

Tom flexed his hand and stretched the arm. A faint streak of blood still tinged the skin, but it was otherwise healed. He hopped off the biobed.

"This would be more efficient than that primitive hunting knife," said the doctor, offering him a handheld phaser. At Tom's inquisitive glance the doctor replied, "I like to be prepared for any circumstance."

Tom set the knife on the biobed and took the offered phaser. "Thanks." He went for the door leading to the corridor, but paused and glanced back.

Instead of preparing for a triage as he'd said he would, the doctor had retrieved another phaser and was adjusting its setting. He looked up when he realized Tom was watching him. "To be on the safe side," he said and attached it to a clasp on his belt.

Stepping out into the corridor, Tom saw that it was empty, like a ghost ship. One couldn't tell by looking, that Voyager was in great peril. No warnings had been issued. It was quiet, just as Chakotay wanted it to be, and since he'd already captured the captain, it should stay quiet until the task was complete.

As he went down the hall, he heard faint sounds of shouting and phaser fire. He ran toward the end of the corridor toward the sounds when another crewman rounded the corner firing on an unseen foe.

The red hair and security uniform told Tom in an instant that this man was Ensign Renning, or more clearly, his imposter. Renning turned and started in a dead run straight toward him. Surprise lit Renning's freckled face and he raised his phaser, leveling it at Tom.

Tom raised his own phaser in defense, but before he could fire, Renning fell in an instant, struck down by a stunning shot. Tom turned and saw the doctor sprinting up behind him, his phaser drawn.

"I thought you might need assistance."

Tom knelt beside Renning and rolled him over. This Allorian didn't go through a metamorphosis like the one in his quarters did. Maybe these creatures had to be dead before a change could take place.

Tuvok and several other security men rushed around the corner. The Vulcan tapped his combadge. "Commander, we have secured the last of the away team."


	8. A Point of Light

Ensign Renning lay in a prone position on the corridor floor, but he was no longer inert. Tom, still kneeling, noticed that the fallen man's eyes twitched behind closed lids, and he heard a slight moan.

"He's coming to," Tom said in alarm. The stunning shot had been a mild one, just strong enough to incapacitate him for a few moments.

The doctor knelt and ran a tricorder scan over the body. "Vital signs are increasing. The stun should lose its effects momentarily."

Tuvok made a small gesture with his hand and a security guard came forward with a pair of binders. The doctor got up and stepped back, as Tom helped turn the prisoner over so the binders could be maneuvered onto his wrists.

By the time the ensign's hands were secured behind his back, his eyes had fluttered open. "Wh-what's going on?" he muttered, the effects of the stun slurring his speech.

"He is sufficiently conscious," stated Tuvok, "Pick him up and escort him to the brig."

Renning turned his head from one side to the other, panic and confusion effectively wiping away the residual symptoms from the phaser stun. "Wait! I didn't do anything!"

With the intention of handing Renning off to Security as soon as he was on his feet, Tom hauled him up from one side with the help of the security officer on the other. The ensign stood at least five centimeters above Tom in height and was stockier in build, but this imposter weighed at least twice as much as he looked. Tom's arms trembled with the strain of lifting him.

"Ow! Let go of me!" demanded Renning as he stumbled to his feet, his face flushed with fury. He twisted in an attempt to jerk free of his captors.

Almost losing his grip, Tom grasped Renning's arm with both hands, trying to steady him. He glanced at the prisoner's face, and at that moment, a tidal wave of disjointed images hit Tom all at once, violent and confusing; he wanted to break away but could not. He saw Captain Janeway, clearly, as if she were right beside him. "Lucky we found you…" she said, speaking directly to him, eyes on his. "Dilithium…exactly what we need…"

"Captain," Tom's voice was but a whisper, as if in a dream.

She didn't respond, just continued walking through the mist. Shots rang out. A scream pierced the air and Tom watched helplessly as two crewmen fell. Janeway reflexively ducked and drew her weapon.

Renning jerked again, snapping Tom back to the present. Incensed by a sudden realization, Tom shoved him against the wall. "You know what happened to them!" he exclaimed, thrusting an arm up and pinning the ensign to the wall by his throat. "Tell me what happened to them!" He could feel his own pulse quickening along with an intense desire to rip the man's heart out. Hands seized his shoulders, his arms, but he could barely feel them as they tried to break the death grip he now had on the prisoner. "Look at me!"

Renning's flushed face tinged purple, but he complied, the whites of his eyes bright and feverish, "Human!" he said, in a low stifled growl that sounded like a curse, "What's the matter? Didn't you see them die?"

Tom drew back to strike him, but his arm fell slack and his grip on the prisoner dissolved. As he fell, a voice, calm and authoritative, broke through the rampaging chaos in his mind. " _Rest,"_ it said _._

* * *

"What else do you remember?"

The lighting in the conference room was subdued compared to the lights in sickbay, and for that Tom was grateful. He glanced up at Chakotay who gazed at him expectantly. Hadn't he told the commander everything? He tried to piece together in his own mind what had happened, why he had snapped in the confrontation with the prisoner. The memories were his, but it was as if someone else had made them.

"I've told you everything." He tried to rub the bleariness from his eyes and tiredness from his face, felt the rough stubble of a few days growth of beard along his jaw. God, he was tired. He'd been unconscious in sickbay for at least two hours thanks to Tuvok's nerve pinch and sheer exhaustion. Even if he counted that as rest, he still fell way short of the standard eight hours.

"According to the doctor's report," Chakotay said after a moment, "what you saw when you were with Renning, and the other times, could very well be memories and not hallucinations."

There was no doubt in Tom's mind that what he saw had been real, but it troubled him to have Chakotay confirm it. His hands slowly turned the coffee mug on the table in front of him.

Receiving no response, Chakotay continued, "If that's true. If you've got some ability to connect with them because of that contamina—" He cut off. Apparently 'contamination' was too harsh a word. "That _contact_ with the alien down on the surface, then anything you saw could help us."

Tom nodded and stared down at his hands wrapped around the hot mug of coffee. Steam wafted up from the liquid's surface resembling the heavy mist on the planet below. Nothing it seemed would let him forget what happened, and if Chakotay were suggesting that he intentionally tap those creatures' memories, he wasn't sure he would comply. He couldn't survive witnessing B'Elanna's death at their hands.

"Aren't the prisoners talking?"

Chakotay sighed. "They deny everything. Hell, they might actually believe they _are_ the away team. The 'captain' has gone so far as to threaten me with court martial."

"Court martial." Tom smiled ruefully. Ensign Renning's red bloated face popped into his mind. How satisfying it would be to wrap his hands around that fat neck, and squeeze the truth out of him. His hand twitched in an involuntary response to the imagined scene, and a dollop of the steaming liquid stung his skin. _That's not the way._

With great effort he turned his attention to Chakotay."When are we going back down there? They may be dead. If they're alive they're suffering. I don't—" He bit his lip, holding back a wave of emotion that threatened to wash over him if he continued to speak.

Chakotay gripped his shoulder, a reassuring gesture. "The team's ready, and we'll find them. But it's a huge risk to blindly send another team down. We're waiting on the final surface scan, and then—"

"If we wait any longer, there won't be anyone left to bring back."

Chakotay's hand fell away, Tom could see the strain of the last few days had taken its toll on the commander, too. His face was drawn and there was a weariness in his voice. "Tom, as the commander of this vessel, I have to make decisions based on facts, not on my feelings. I'd do anything to get them back, you know that, but I can't rush in there at the risk of losing another team."

Tom saw it clearly in his eyes; Chakotay hurt as much as he did, but he had a ship to command and remembered his duty. Tom straightened and drew a calming breath. In all this turmoil, he'd almost forgotten who he was, what he stood for, and as much as Tom wanted to get the team back, have B'Elanna safely home, he couldn't argue with Chakotay…couldn't argue with the truth.

The commander stood. "I think we've discussed this enough for now. Get yourself a bite to eat, and try to get some rest. I'm going down to see if Tuvok has made any progress with the interrogations. If you remember anything else, you'll let me know."

Tom nodded. "Aye, Sir."

* * *

"Mind if I join you for a few minutes?"

Tom who intentionally sat alone in the mess hall, looked up from his partially eaten dinner and saw Harry standing there with a PADD in one hand and a cup in the other. "Sure."

Head in his hand, Tom resumed pushing his food with his fork as Harry took a chair across from him.

After a few moments of silence, Harry spoke. "You feeling all right?"

When Tom shifted his gaze from the meatball on his plate to Harry, and saw his friend's reaction to how he looked, he said, "What do _you_ think?"

"Listen," said Harry, not one to be put off that easily, "I know you've been through hell these past few days, and you probably don't want to be bothered right now, but I have something here that you might want to see." He placed the PADD on the table and turned it so Tom could see.

"I've been compiling data from all the surface scans, and I noticed a slight fluctuation in the numbers." A smile spread across Harry's face, as he pointed to the data on the screen.

"Explain this to me," said Tom, too tired for guessing games, but Harry's obvious excitement nonetheless piqued his interest. "All these numbers look like dots."

Harry leaned closer as if he was about to tell some great secret. "You know there's a dampening field covering virtually all the area where we've been searching, and we haven't been able to contact the team, or they us."

"Yeah." _C'mon, Harry, tell me something new._

"I think we've found them."

Tom dropped the hand on which his chin had rested and sat up. He stared at Harry, and tried to speak, but words failed him.

"See?" Harry moved his chair around to the side so they could see the display together as he explained. "On these scans, the field is generally expressed by these numbers here." He indicated a line of digits displayed on the screen. "But they spike periodically, just slightly, at three minute intervals. And it's all coming from a single point, a good five kilometers from base camp. This fluctuation wasn't there before the mission started. I've gone back and studied previous scans. In fact, the spikes started to appear only two hours ago." Harry took the PADD and gazed at it almost reverently. "It's a signal alright. It's got to be."

"Harry," Tom said, barely finding his voice, "Does Chakotay know about this?"

"Oh, I couldn't keep news like this to myself. I sent him the information as soon as I found out." He picked up his cup to take a sip.

Suddenly energized, Tom smacked Harry on the back, grabbed his shoulder and shook it heartily, causing his friend to spill tea on himself and the PADD. "Harry…you're a genius!" He got up from the table and started toward the doors.

"Where you going?" Harry asked, wiping his shirt with a napkin.

"To convince Chakotay to put me on the recovery team," he said, "If what you're saying is true…I have to bring my wife home."


	9. Once Revealed

"I have never encountered a species with as much mental prowess as they possess."

Tom was approaching the brig when he overheard Tuvok's comment. He paused in the corridor, just out of sight, not wanting to intrude on a private conversation, especially one that promised to satisfy his own growing need for information.

"So you _did_ meld with one of them." Chakotay said in a low tone.

"Aye Sir. The Allorian has a highly ordered intellect, quite impressive. As I entered the mind meld, the creature created barriers and false images with its mind in order to thwart my attempt. It was impossible for me to decide which of the images, if any, were real."

"Are they _telepathic_?"

"To a certain extent, yes. Alone they are limited in what they can accomplish. For instance, each has the capability to alter a person's mood, make someone angry or depressed. However, their abilities are enhanced in the presence of other telepaths. I fear, sir, that the level of danger to this ship increases the longer they are kept together in the same cell."

"Until we establish an alternative mode of confinement, they'll have to remain here. Keep at least three guards on duty at all times, one outside and two in the brig."

"Aye, Commander."

Silence followed, and sensing that the conversation was over, Tom continued on in their direction. His mind reeled with this new information, it was one thing to find out the Allorians were shape shifters but _telepathic_ …it was no surprise how they were able to present themselves so benignly in the beginning.

As Tom rounded the corner, he found the commander walking toward him, studying a PADD he held in his hands, brows drawn together in deep thought. Chakotay glanced up momentarily, registered who it was that he nearly ran into, and returned his gaze to the instrument in his hands. "I trust you got something to eat?"

"I did."

Tom fell into step with Chakotay. Now more than ever he wanted to go down the surface, and he didn't hesitate to state that determination straight out. "I want to be on the recovery team."

Chakotay stopped walking and lowered the PADD, his jaw set in grim determination. It was as if he'd been ready for this. His answer was immediate. "No, Tom. The team is scheduled to leave at 0200 hours…that's only an hour from now. You're not fit."

Tom was stunned at the refusal, so sure that the commander would consent, but he wasn't about to give up. "Chakotay, I've been down there. I know what it's like…doesn't that count for something? Come on—"

"Are you questioning my orders, Lieutenant?" Chakotay countered with a flash of anger in his eyes. "The team is set. You're not going." He turned abruptly headed down the corridor again.

Tom stood as if frozen to the spot. He had been unprepared for a blatant rejection, and chastised himself for his tactless approach. Harry's new information had gotten him too worked up to think straight.

Chakotay had walked on ahead, but Tom caught up with a few quick steps. Somehow he had to convince the commander to let him go, but he wasn't sure what he could possibly say to make him change his mind.

Before he could say anything though, Chakotay spoke. "You know, I considered you first for the team."

"No." Tom was surprised at this admission. Hope rose again that he might be able to go.

"You would be the right choice. As you said…you've been there; but so have I." Chakotay stopped walking, and looked at Tom, the anger was gone from his eyes, but not the determination. "Back on the surface, when we found Renning's corpse…you remember what happened."

"Yeah," Tom rubbed his jaw where Chakotay had struck him. It no longer hurt, but he remembered it clearly.

"And then there was the incident in the corridor with Renning's imposter. You lost control, Tom. Four men couldn't pry you off. We're lucky Tuvok was there. Your emotions are volatile right now. B'Elanna is first in your mind. I understand that. But down on that planet, the team has to come first." Chakotay paused, and searched Tom's face for any indication that he'd gotten his point across. "You're not ready for this mission, Tom. I must stand by my decision," he said, thereby crushing any hope Tom had of joining the recovery team.

Painful as it was, Chakotay had hit him with the truth. It was unbearable. Why did he always have to be so…right? "I have to do something. I can't just sit here and wait, pretending everything's alright."

"Attend the mission briefing. You'll find out what we plan to do, and that might ease your mind a little."

"Alright," Tom said, his voice betraying the helplessness he felt.

Chakotay proceeded down the corridor alone. After watching him turn the corner, Tom leaned against the wall to think. There had to be a way to bring Chakotay to his side, but nothing came to him. His fist hit the wall in frustration. Being sidelined at this critical stage of the game was excruciating. Tom was sure he'd go crazy remaining on Voyager, not knowing if B'Elanna was dead or alive, waiting for someone else to rescue her from that hell. He'd give anything to be there for her, but Chakotay was telling him to wait. _Wait!_ And for what? For them to bring B'Elanna's body back in a bag? Or worse, never finding her at all.

"Don't even think it," he muttered, not realizing he'd said it aloud. He couldn't dwell on such an appalling prospect. _It won't come to that_ , he assured himself, _it can't come to that._

His eyes lit on the doors leading to the brig, and anger stirred his blood again. Those creatures were the source all their problems. A burning desire to finish that imposter _Renning_ flared up in him, causing his hands to curl into fists. Sure, there were guards posted, but nothing could stop him from trying.

For a fleeting moment he envisioned what he would have do to accomplish the task, but he soon rejected the notion. Stepping in that direction would surely lead him down a path to his own destruction.

No, he'd go to the briefing, see what they planned to do. After that, he'd have to…wait and see. As he started down the hall he considered his attitude toward the prisoners. Chakotay was right. "Tom, you're unpredictable," he muttered to himself with a sardonic half smile. He glanced back at the brig doors, not really knowing why, perhaps to remind himself he'd made the right choice.

He did a double take. The guard was gone.


	10. My Enemy, My Ally

A prickling sensation at the back of his neck warned Tom that something wasn't right. No security officer would leave his post, not unless there was trouble. Tom tapped his combadge to report to Tuvok, but as soon as the device chirped in readiness, the brig doors swished open, and Lt. Ayala stumbled out backward. His phaser tumbled from an open palm and clattered to the floor, then the hand flew up and clutched at his chest as if desperately trying to remove something. Tom rushed forward, but before he could reach him, Ayala's knees had buckled, and his face contorted in agony. As he collapsed, a brilliant web of light engulfed him, crushing his body like a fiery fist until...a charred black swatch of flooring was all that remained. Ayala was gone. Snuffed out like a candle flame.

Tom's hand flew up to his combadge again as he threw himself against a wall for protection. "Security to the brig—"

"Stop them, please, stop them!"

When he heard the Captain's pleading voice, Tom reacted from a core of irreconcilable emotions. On impulse, he scooped up Ayala's abandoned weapon and rushed into the brig. _The captain was under attack._ By the time he realized his error, he had already taken several steps into the fray. "Oh, _Shit_ ," he muttered. He hadn't completed the call to Security. He hadn't waited for backup. He was alone, the only standing crewman in the brig.

Captain Janeway cowered in the cell before a tall gray creature that was looming over her. No. _Not_ Janeway, he reminded himself, her _imposter_. "Don't!" she said, then her round terrified eyes, found Tom, "Don't let them!"

Tom assessed quickly that there were two intruders in the brig, and he had to face them down or hold them until help arrived. He raised the phaser only half way when something knocked the weapon out of his hand sending it crashing against the opposite wall. When Tom whipped his head around to see who delivered the blow, he saw a gray creature, wolf-like and menacing rushing at him from his right. It was of the same species that had attacked them on the planet's surface. As it launched itself at him, he threw up his arm and elbowed it in the teeth. A surprised yowl coincided with the impact, but Tom had only succeeded in snapping its head back. It recovered immediately and before Tom could react, it threw itself at him again. As the full force of the brute rammed into him, Tom fell backward with the hideous creature slamming down on top of him. He could feel it's hot putrid breath in his face as it snorted, saliva dripping between its sharp yellow teeth.

Janeway screamed, and he could see in his peripheral vision a white light engulf the frightened captain and then like Ayala, she too was gone.

Claws dug into his neck and as Tom struggled, the image of Chakotay flashed into his mind, the commander was lying unconscious down on that murky planet, the vicious alien on top of him, drawing back its arm, with claws extended, ready to kill.

From the corridor, he could hear the red alert wailing, calling all crewmen to their posts. Security would come, but it would be too late. The prisoners were gone, and Ayala…

The grip on this throat had tightened so much that Tom could barely gulp air in ragged gasps. The creature extended its claws, and Tom put a hand up to deflect a blow that he was convinced would end him. It was all happening too fast. Scenes from a life flashed before his mind, but they weren't from his life. He remembered another time…a time of fighting, and struggling…then his own voice, raspy and low, sputtered words he did not understand. The grip on his throat slackened and Tom gratefully drew cool air into his now unobstructed windpipe. He tried to wrangle free, but the creature didn't let him go. It squeezed his throat again which this time Tom took only to be a threat, and it stared at him, tilting its head in an ugly but curious fashion, its yellow watery eyes penetrating, searching his…for what?

Footsteps and voices from the corridor announced that a security team would soon be upon them. Tom hoped the creature would back off, knowing that help was coming, but the creature gave its comrade what could be taken as a look of apprehension. The other one snarled and made a sharp slicing gesture through the air with its claw. The grip tightened around Tom's throat until he was sure he would be strangled. His hands went up to pry the claw off, but the creature held fast and reached into the folds of its flimsy garment, pulled out a small round metallic object, and struck Tom's chest, sending metal prongs through his flesh. Tom yelped in pain and the creature jumped back.

As Tom scrambled to remove the object, bright light surrounded him. He could feel it picking him apart, atom by atom. The sensation was intense like lightning and fire, all at once. He had to be screaming, mouth open and lungs bursting, but the only sound was the papery hiss of static assaulting his senses.

Then, as soon as it began, the pain and the hiss dissipated. He felt himself stretch over a great distance, on and on until there was nothing. Time had stopped, and his whole life came to a halt. _Could this be death_ , he thought. Then the answer came, piece by piece, slowly at first then in a rapid crescendo of terror and pain, faster and faster until he crashed.

He couldn't be dead, no…because was still conscious. A smooth metal surface stretched out beneath him. He felt whole. He hadn't really crashed or fallen; he'd just _arrived_ , but where? Opening his eyes, he discovered that about six centimeters or so above him was glass, crusted over with frost. He tried to lift a hand up to brush away the frost, but his arm hit something smooth and rigid. He seemed to be encased in something. He tilted his head to see more of his prison, but his neck was too stiff to cooperate.

The temperature in the container dropped sharply, and he began to shiver. He had to get out. Kicking the glass and pounding it with fists only served to tire him out until he could no longer move. His breathing slowed. Something was draining all his energies. After a few moments, drowsiness crept over him as the cold penetrated through his body. As his pulse slowed, and he drew another sluggish breath, he saw the frost being scraped away from the other side. Peering down into the trap was a blue, round-eyed alien.

 _Sadistic._

The creature would watch him die like a fly in a spider's trap.

But… No. That wasn't it at all.

He saw pity in its eyes.

* * *

A great hissing noise woke Tom, and intense pain rushed into every nerve of his body. His voice escaped in a rattling hiss, making a sound so monstrous that he couldn't believe it was his. His heart raced as his chest labored with the renewed effort to breathe.

"Steady," commanded a familiar voice. "Hold that arm."

Tom tried to open his eyes, but they were dry, frozen shut. When he tried to move his arms, they were restrained.

"Mr. Paris," came the voice again. "Mr. Paris. Easy. You're awakening from cryogenic sleep. Do you understand?"

Sleep. But the nightmare was now. His body was on fire.

"The pain will subside. You will be alright."

He recognized the doctor's steady voice.

"Doc…" Tom's voice was hoarse, barely audible.

"Don't try to speak. Not yet," replied the doctor. "Hand me that hypo spray." Tom felt another injection and this time the sensation was like a warm spring entering his veins.

"Now, I'm going to apply some drops to your eyes so you can open them. Try to relax."

 _Relax,_ Tom thought, _I feel like a steak that's been in the freezer for months, and he says relax_.

Warm drops splashed onto Tom's eyelids and after a moment, the doctor directed him to slowly open his eyes.

Tom had to blink several times before the lubricant worked into his eyes. The blur slowly sharpened, and he saw the doctor standing over him.

"Tell me how you feel," said the doctor.

"Like a fah-frozen dinner." Tom said, shivering; his whole body ached. The joints were stiff as if he'd been thawed from a block of ice.

A female voice interrupted, "Have no fear, _crahgchi_ , the effects will wear off soon." The voice didn't sound very human. It was gravelly, and rough, like phlegm in the throat. Not a very sweet sound to wake up to. An Allorian came into view opposite the doctor to peer over him. It was the same creature that watched him suffer in the chamber. Tom tried to back away from her but he was still lying in the container in which he'd been trapped. Alarm pressed him and he looked to the doctor for reassurance. "Doc, w-what's going on?"

The doctor's face lost the tight-lipped look of concern, and his mouth relaxed into a smile. "Mr. Paris, I'd like you to meet Cahla Sin'b, the Allorian ambassador."

The blue creature closed her eyes and bobbed her head in greeting.

"Doc," Tom said after a moment, his eyes fixed on the Allorian. "You've got a…lot of explaining to do."


	11. Reluctant Prisoner

Warmth, Tom would give anything to have it, but unfortunately it was a commodity not easy to come by in the small cells of an Allorian prison ship. He judged the temperature in this particular cell to be in the lower 50's. It was an improvement over his previous accommodations to be sure, the cell he'd awakened in had been even colder, but it had still been a difficult task trying to recover the body heat he'd lost from cryogenic stasis. Either the Allorians preferred this cold environment or they didn't feel the need to supply climate control to the holding cells. There was no reason they _had_ to as far as Tom could tell, it seemed that all of the prisoners in the ship were held in stasis.

He pulled the edges of the thermal blanket closer around him to conserve what little warmth his body could generate. The thermos the doctor had left him radiated delicious warmth and Tom had latched on to the small container as if it was the only life buoy in a vast and frozen sea. He was reluctant to drink from it and lose it as an external heat source, but another sip of the hot brew might ease the incessant chattering of his teeth. He removed the cap and drank cautiously. The liquid was bitter, but it served a dual purpose in giving warmth and replacing the electrolytes he'd lost during the haphazard transport from Voyager's brig to this alien ship.

What had transpired from the time he'd been hijacked to this vessel and the moment he awakened was still largely a mystery to him. He had so many questions to ask, but after the doctor had revived him, his next task was to retrieve Ayala, who had also ended up in frozen stasis. Before he departed on that task however, as he moved his patient to a "warmer" cell, the doctor had time to give Tom a few of the facts he so desperately craved.

Tom and Mike Ayala had been hijacked from Voyager, along with the Allorian prisoners from the brig and all had been placed in frozen stasis in this odd prison transport vessel. The vessel had apparently come in response to a distress signal from one of their outposts on that shadowy planet. Upon arrival, they detected Allorian life patterns onboard Voyager, and had taken them by force without preamble. This was the worst news Tom could hear, and he was disheartened. Harry's theory was wrong; the signal hadn't been from the away team after all and so wasn't a sign of their survival. As more time passed, Tom felt hope for B'Elanna's safety being maliciously stripped away from him piece by bloody piece.

Waiting for the doctor to return taxed Tom's patience. He hated this cramped cell. When he paced, which turned out to be more often as his strength returned to him, he could feel his hair brush the low ceiling, much to his growing annoyance. The six metal slats in the middle of the cell, which were apparently spare bases for stasis units, were so cold that they siphoned heat from his body, so he couldn't sit down for any long period of time. He felt trapped.

When he could take the confinement no longer, he stepped out of the cell's only exit, as he'd done many times already during this period of waiting. The archway opened up to a cavernous space that was oval in shape and strikingly vast in comparison to the cell. The walls around the perimeter ran several stories high and were pockmarked with thousands of other archways. The place was a honeycomb prison cells. Tom could only imagine how many prisoners this ship actually held.

The gangway, which lined his level midway up from the main floor, was apparently the only walkway in the entire place. It was constructed of a flimsy looking but surprisingly strong metal mesh that didn't give under his weight. There were no struts or supporting rods running underneath. It was like someone had rolled it out and attached it to the wall and that was it. If he looked down at his feet he could clearly see the many levels below. He oscillated between claustrophobia and vertigo depending on where he was standing.

Walking to the curled edge of the mesh that served as a railing, he peered down into an open courtyard of sorts where several of the wolf like creatures milled about, carrying more stasis units to and from various openings. It looked less like a prison and more like a busy cargo ship.

Another chill came over him and when he pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, he felt a tug at the sore patch on his chest where the circular teleportation device had been so unceremoniously attached. It had to be the worst mode of travel he'd ever experienced. He felt as if he'd been through a cosmic shredder and then haphazardly taped back together. He was lucky to have coalesced in one piece and in the right order, and he hoped never to go through that agony again.

The pain renewed his worries about B'Elanna and the Captain and what they might be going through. It seemed unlikely that Chakotay would have gone on with his plans of a recovery team going down to the planet when Voyager had been maliciously boarded by an alien race that snatched two crewmen. The fact that it was the same race that had instigated their troubles to begin with only complicated matters.

His feeling of dread grew with each passing moment. God! Where was the doctor? He reached up to tap the combadge he still wore then remembered it had been damaged in the freeze. In a surge of exasperation, he tore it off and hurled it across the chasm. The action didn't satisfy him though. The combadge fell silently to the floor below, not even rewarding him with the tiniest clatter. He wanted to shout, to curse; _anything_ …but there was no object on which he could vent his mounting frustrations.

But at that moment, a dark and foreboding feeling crept over him. He straightened and pulled himself away from the railing. He'd felt this way before and was starting to recognize it. It seemed always to take hold of him whenever one of _them_ was nearby.

 _Mister Paris._ He heard the thought before it was actually spoken. The intrusion into his mind felt like a violation. He turned and saw the Allorian approach, her steps lightly shuffling on the mesh walkway. It was the ambassador, that Cahla Sin'b. He remembered her as the Allorian who was with the doctor when Tom first awoke from stasis.

As she came closer, her wide benign smile emanated no hostility, but he took a step back anyway. He still hated them, all of them. He hadn't met an Allorian yet that was worthy of his trust.

"Mister Paris." The voice was rough and yet feminine.

"What do you want?" Tom said brusquely not willing to let his guard down for a moment.

The ambassador stood serenely with her long arms resting at her sides. "The doctor had a few difficulties resuscitating Mister Ayala," she said, her words slow and cumbersome, as if speaking aloud was foreign to her. "The doctor has requested," she said and then began again telepathically. _Follow me, Mister Paris. I will take you to him._

The ambassador then turned, her flowing silvery garment billowed around her as if buffeted by a soft breeze. She glided down the walkway clearly expecting Tom to follow like some kind of lap dog.

Anger and distrust had built up so much that Tom's feet would not move even if he wanted them to, but at least he'd found a target for his fear and frustration in the lanky form of the ambassador. "Go to hell!" he shouted after her retreating form. "Why should I follow _you_?"

She turned her head only slightly in response and her mind stated simply, _You have no other alternative._

A rattling sound came from behind and Tom turned to see that the walkway was loosening behind him. The slackening mesh drew back into the walls like a serpent into its pit. There were only a couple of meters of walkway left behind him and that was going too. Soon, there would be nothing between him and the floor below. He'd die if he fell that far. The mesh began to draw away from his feet. Scrambling backward to relative safety, Tom knew resistance was pointless. He had no choice but to follow Cahla Sin'b, and into whatever peril she may lead him.


	12. Threshold

Tom followed Cahla Sin'b through the corridors of the alien vessel. They'd left behind the cavernous area that served as a storage facility for the Allorian's cryogenic prisoners. It sickened him to think about how close he'd been to becoming just like them, frozen for an eternity, never to live again. But how much better was this, he wondered. Here he was, alone on an alien ship, numb from cold, surrounded by an enemy he could not comprehend. All this, when added to his grief for B'Elanna and the Captain, compounded into a hellish nightmare from which he now believed he'd never awaken.

Sin'b moved on ahead, never looking back to see if Tom was still behind, wouldn't make a difference if she did. He was her prisoner after all, not knowing his way around this ship. Yet lost as he was he couldn't bring himself to follow her very closely. If he was within close proximity of her, he could sense a mental gateway between them, an open door to her mind that Tom had no desire to step through.

He remained at a distance, reliving the incident that made the mental gateway possible. It was just a freak occurrence, a chance mixing of blood through the now healed wound in his upper arm. It was meant to happen, he supposed. If he hadn't killed that creature it would have killed Chakotay, no doubt about that. As for any consequence he'd suffer resulting from his actions, well, it was just something he'd have to endure. Tom had learned long ago that the choices he made usually came with a price, even if he had no other choice. He knew he had none now, other than to follow Cahla Sin'b through endless passageways into the unknown.

It seemed they'd spent an eternity walking though the corridors when she finally paused and turned to face him. _This way,_ she said, her mind reaching out to his.

It didn't hurt when she spoke to him in that manner, but he didn't like it. Her intrusions into his mind were a personal kind of injury that he could not allow. "Keep your thoughts to yourself," he retorted, "If you have something to say to me, _say_ it." He wasn't altogether confident that his challenge would go untested. For all he knew she might be able to crush his mind with a single thought. He tightened his grip on the blanket still draped over his shoulders and braced himself for her response.

Her large eyes looked him over and rested for a moment on his. It was a long moment for Tom. As she studied him, he could see sympathy forming in her eyes. A vague feeling of regret crept up on him, but he dashed it away. Weakness, he decided, was all it was. This was how the Allorians lured them into complacency in the beginning. He'd be damned if he'd fall for it again.

Finally, she bowed her head, coming to an understanding of sorts, and relented to his request. "Please," she said in her gravely, untried voice, "The doctor is this way." Motioning to her left and to a portion of the seamless corridor wall. Suddenly and silently, a once hidden panel slid back to reveal a darkened archway. Peering into the darkness, he saw nothing, heard nothing to indicate any life inside or any hologram for that matter, but he decided that if Cahla Sin'b had wanted to imprison him, she could have kept him locked up in that cold storage instead of walking him here.

"Please follow," she said, then stepped through the archway and disappeared. Now Tom stood alone in an empty corridor, in the distance he heard faint sounds of activity, but no visible signs in either direction. All was still. Muttering a few words to himself, or to whatever Supreme Being watched over this damned Delta Quadrant, he stepped through the archway behind her.


	13. Message in a Bottle

When Tom stepped through the archway, the panel closed in a tight seal behind him. There was no turning back now. They had stepped into a small alcove of sorts. Sin'b went through another archway down into a dimly lit room. Tom followed, and his eyes adjusted.

Furnished with an elongated table and several tall, plush looking chairs, it looked like a conference room, and a comfortable one at that. The doctor sat in one of the chairs in animated conversation with Commander Chakotay.

Tom stood rooted at the door. He was surprised to see Chakotay here, but that wasn't the reason he hesitated. There was something peculiar about the commander's appearance.

"Tom," Chakotay said, breaking off the conversation with the doctor to greet him. "Good to see you."

"I don't believe it," said Tom, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny. "I can see right through you, Chakotay. You're a hologram."

"A crude 3-D projection, yes," the doctor said and he too gazed at the commander with a critical eye. "But, he's definitely _not_ a hologram."

"It's the Allorian communications system," Chakotay said, "It's amazing. It's almost as if you're here in the same room with me."

"And you would be…where?"

"I'm on Voyager, in the conference room," Chakotay said, "It's an amazing thing. They use their minds to generate the projections."

"Hmph," Tom replied and eased down the steps. The temperature was significantly warmer. The room was small, almost pleasant, with deep maroon carpeting. _Curiouser and curiouser,_ he thought, half expecting to find a cozy fire crackling in a corner hearth.

"Sit down, Tom." Chakotay's hologram said, "We have a lot to talk about."

Not sure how far he could trust this new situation, Tom remained standing a few paces away from the gathered group. "Where's Mike?"

"He's in the Allorian's care at the moment," said the doctor, then he turned back to Chakotay. "I need to get back to Mr. Ayala soon, Commander, if he's to be readied for transport."

Tom remembered Mike Ayala's face as it contorted in agony when he was snatched away from Voyager, and suspected the worst. "Is he going to be alright?"

"The Allorian teleportation device isn't meant for human transport," the doctor said. "When he rematerialized, the iron in his blood did not."

Tom's mouth dropped, and he moved closer. "What?"

"It's nothing I can't correct. He's still in stasis at the moment, so his condition will not deteriorate. When we get him proper care on Voyager, he should fully recover. By the way, are you feeling any lingering effects from the cryogenic stasis?

"Do anger and resentment count?" Tom said, "Because I'm feeling those."

A wry smile formed on the doctor's face. "I see your well on your way to recovery."

Suddenly, Tom realized he was still holding the thermos. He had clutched it to himself for so long, he'd forgotten about it. He smacked it down on the table with a metallic clang. "Well, I've had enough. When will we be leaving?"

"Hold on a minute," the commander said, "There're still some things I need to discuss with you."

"Can we have this discussion when I get back?"

"Sit down, Tom," Chakotay said, the smile now gone. "That's an order."

That sounded enough like Chakotay, so Tom didn't question it. He selected the seat farthest from Cahla Sin'b and slumped into it.

"Doctor, I think you and I have covered everything," Chakotay said, "Do you have any other questions or concerns?"

"No, Sir. Mr. Ayala should be ready for transport in about thirty minutes or so."

"I'll have the technician standing by."

"Thank you." The doctor said and he stood turning to Tom, "I have prepared two medications for you, Mr. Paris. This one," he said holding up one hypo, "will increase your alertness, but take it only when you _need_ it. This one," he said holding up another, "will inhibit the effects of the alien contaminant in your system. It should stop the visions you've been experiencing." Looking at Cahla Sin'b, he said, "No offense, Ambassador."

She nodded. "None taken, Doctor."

"Well then, it looks like I'll be staying a while," Tom said

The doctor shot Chakotay a furtive look.

"You're doing the right thing, Doctor," the commander said. "It's our only chance."

The doctor frowned, "It's not my decision, of course. I'm only the doctor." He gave the two hypos to Tom and left the room.

As the hypos lay like weights in his hand, Tom remembered an ancient story he once read. _One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small._ "Why do I get the feeling, I'm about to go down a rabbit hole?"

"Tom, we've analyzed that signal. The one that Harry discovered. The same one that called Ambassador Sin'b's ship here. B'Elanna encoded a message inside it." Chakotay smiled as if he were hearing the news for the first time. "They're alive, Tom, and we know where they are. Now the rest is up to us."


	14. Leap of Faith

Tom sat motionless at the conference table, oblivious for the moment, to his commanding officer and the Allorian also present in the room. He did not look up; his head was in his hands, thumbs pressed against his temples. His mind was drawn to the last place in which his wife was last known to be alive. Over the comm, B'Elanna's voice urgent, yet steady, reported the team's location, the enemy's number, the names of those who died… then static, cut off in mid-sentence.

Tom didn't move, had to remember to breathe again. B'Elanna had put up a brave front, but he detected the minute quaver in her voice. She was afraid.

He pressed his palms to his closed eyes for a moment, feeling the coolness of them. When he drew in a cleansing breath, he realized his throat hurt.

 _She's alive._

"Is that the entire message?" Tom said, looking up.

"That was all we could retrieve," Chakotay said, his holographic image flickered. "But I believe it's all we need."

"How much time do we have?"

"Two hours," Chakotay said, "After that…"

In his mind, Tom finished with the words the commander couldn't bring himself to say… _they'll die._ Uttering a curse, he ran a hand through his hair. "Why?" he said, directing the question to the Ambassador.

She was contemplative for a moment, seeming to choose her words with care, "The Allorians on the planet below are…desperate. They have fought us for years. They know this is their last chance."

"Last chance for what?"

"For life, for freedom," Cahla Sin'b said softly. It seemed that an acute sadness came over her. "It is why they tried to take your ship, and why they are now holding your crewmen and demanding safe passage away from here. But regrettably, life and freedom for them means pain and suffering and often death for my kind."

"But they're the same as you…"

"No. They are vastly different, as you have seen."

Tom suddenly remembered the Allorian that attacked him in his quarters, how it had changed before his eyes when he'd killed it, and then there was the murderous fervor in Renning's chaotic mind. "Then, you're not a shape shifter?" he said.

"No," she said, her eyes intent on him, "They are many things we are not."

"What are they?"

"Mutations," she said, her eyes intent on him, " They are the unfortunate result of an ambitious genetic experiment. We wanted to colonize in the far reaches of the galaxy. To do that, we had to be able to survive in any alien environment. Our scientists mutated their genes to give them the power to evolve into any form they would need for survival. They were to be the forerunners in Allorian space exploration. But the experiment as it turned out, was a grave mistake. It gave them too much power. They became greedy, taking what they wanted, attacking established settlements, killing anyone who resisted. They nearly destroyed their own home world, _my_ home world. I am here to stop them."

"In other words," Tom said, "you're not going to give them what they want."

"I cannot."

"Then what _are_ we going to do?"

"The ambassador and I have come up with a plan," said Chakotay, "but it's risky, especially for you."

"Who's afraid of a little risk?" Tom said, anxious to get started. Any action was better than none at all. "What is it you want me to do?"

* * *

 _Oh my god._

"You keep saying that, Mister Paris," Cahla Sin'b said as they walked down another long corridor. "Is it a form of prayer you say before battle?" .

"First of all, I didn't _say_ it, I was only _thinking it."_ Tom said. He kept pace with her now that they were allied in this conflict, and found her proximity not as disturbing as it was before. "Where I come from we like to keep our thoughts to ourselves."

"Pardon me," the ambassador replied, "but that sounds very selfish."

"I don't expect you to understand," said Tom. He shrugged and continued. "As for your question, I suppose it _is_ a kind of a prayer. Though, I didn't think of it that way at first."

"Your thoughts were on your wife," Sin'b said, a note of sincerity in her cat like-voice, "so it must have been a prayer. I will say one for you when you depart on your mission, though it will be a bit more elaborate."

"Thanks," he said, "I'll need all the help I can get."

She stopped walking when they reached a junction with another corridor. "The shuttle bay is through the doors at the end of this passage."

Tom started to go toward the doors.

 _Wait._

Her thought reached him and he turned. Sin'b stood there, arms at her sides, still and thin as a column.

"What is it?" he said.

"You have the medications the doctor gave you."

He reached into a small case at his side, in which he'd kept them. "I was going to wait a little before I took them," he said, "but we're so close, maybe I _should_ do it now."

She held out a thin hand. "You will not need them. They will hinder you."

"But Doc said—"

"You were given a gift, Mister Paris, although you do not see it as such. The insights you have now, the visions, will help you."

He held onto the hypos, his fingers tightening around them. "I'll need these if I get into a struggle down there. When I'm near one of those creatures, the visions come on too fast. I can't control it like you."

"Open your mind," she said and stepped toward him.

"No." Tom said and meant it. Something about the way she looked at him gave him a dark foreboding feeling, but she held up the hand and closed her eyes.

 _Shit, what is she trying to do?_ He stepped back. "I said _no._ "

Suddenly he felt as if his mind was torn open and a blinding bright light flooded in. He could no longer remember who he was; suddenly he was everyone and no one. Images and thoughts, conflicting and jumbled at first began to coalesce into coherent patterns. He became instantly aware of the thousands of dormant minds imprisoned on the ship, their last thoughts etched into their consciousnesses before the freezing process took hold. _There are_ _so many._ Then there were others like Cahla Sin'b, their orderly minds working like cogs in a great machine toward the single purpose, and still others, primal and instinctual, their minds resounding in a chaotic fervor. Ready for vengeance, anxious for blood.

She released him, her mind drawing back, and Tom felt as if he was spiraling down a dark tunnel. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find that he was still standing.

"Now," she said calmly, "you are ready."

"What did you do?" he demanded, rubbing his buzzing ear.

Sin'b smiled and walked toward the shuttle bay doors. "I merely helped you to be more receptive."

"Thanks a bunch. I really needed that," he said and followed her. _That's called sarcasm, by the way._

She made a small sound like a laugh, and Tom realized he'd intentionally used telepathy to speak to her. He silently vowed not to do it again.

When they stepped through the doors, he was immediately aware of the stoppage of work. Dozens of yellow eyes silently assessed him; he stopped rubbing his ear and stared back. These wolf-like creatures did not seem impressed, one of them snorted in derision. Then when they noticed Sin'b, they resumed moving equipment into a shuttle.

"Who are they?" Tom said, feeling uneasy in the presence of these creatures.

"The Worace," said Sin'b, "We, the Allorians, are the lawmakers and the architects. They are the enforcers and the builders."

"Interesting deal." Tom eyed the Worace and noticed they were overtly watching him. Animosity and distrust emanated from them.

"It works well for us." She said and walked toward the spacecraft. "This will be your ship."

Tom looked it over. It was an ugly vessel, with dents and dings scattered across its surface, it looked like it had been through a minefield. "Are you sure this is it?"

"They demanded a ship. They would expect me to send this kind of vessel. If I gave them a prettier one, they would sense a trap. Come, I will show you where the pilot sits."

"I guess that'd be me." He followed her around to the front of the vessel. He winced when he saw what appeared to be a black scar from a firefight streaking from the nose toward the side hatch. "Let's shoot it and put it out of its misery."

She opened a panel beside the hatch and tapped in a code. "Do not let outer appearances deceive you."

There was a click and the hatch opened with a hiss. The inside did look sleeker with its plush command chair and black interior; it was not at all the rust bucket it appeared to be on the outside. Still, Tom reserved his final judgment for when he'd actually take it out on a test run.

He had worried about learning to fly this thing in such a short time, but Sin'b had assured him as she had Chakotay, that since Tom was a natural pilot he would have no trouble at all. His doubts redoubled, however, when he saw no control panels, no buttons, no nothing but a place to sit.

"Get in," said Sin'b, "It is quite comfortable."

Tom stepped up and climbed into the seat. "I hate to tell you this but—whoa." The seat conformed to his body and Tom felt as if the ship was trying to swallow him whole. He heard the Worace yelp and saw them scatter. "Hey! Where are they going?"

Sin'b's smile grew wide and she had an excitement in her eyes. She too was moving back. Tom's heart leaped to his throat when he saw the shuttle bay doors open to blackness and stars. "I'm not ready for this!" he shouted over the starting engines. "What do I do?"

 _Fly!_

"Fly?" he shouted. The craft lifted and hovered unsteadily, the hatch sealed closed. Tom looked at the starlit bay opening and the ship responded, blasting into the darkness of space.


	15. Launch!

Stars streaked across the view port in a frenetic dance of dizzying somersaults. The craft Tom had unwittingly launched from the Allorian shuttle bay was out of control. Every nerve of his body sprang to life. He frantically searched for the ship's controls: pedals, joystick, reins...anything.

Nothing.

When he tried to move his arms, he met resistance. The command chair had almost completely encased him in a gritty gel-like substance. Again he tried to wrench his arms free, but the gel clung to him. There had to be something he could do; he couldn't just sit and allow himself to spin out into space. Closing his eyes against the tumult outside, he stopped struggling. _There has to be a way._

Pushing useless panic aside, he concentrated on calming his mind, but it wasn't easy. If only _he_ had a spirit guide like Chakotay _._ . _._

Maybe he did…somewhere. "Come on," he muttered through clenched teeth. "If you're out there, _help_ me."

Then, as if in response to his plea, his head cleared, and he began to see in his mind the various components that made this vessel fly, or more precisely, tumble. The gel apparently had a purpose other than just strapping him in for the ride; it had formed a conduit between his thoughts and the inner workings of the vessel. The craft had in a strange way, become an extension of himself, and now he understood. _It's so simple,_ he thought, _why couldn't I see it before?_

 _Control._

That was what he needed, but it wasn't a single word or a command, but a feeling of equilibrium…of balance. He communicated this thought to the vessel, and it responded. The stars outside the window slowed their dance to a graceful sway. _Good,_ he thought, _I think I'm getting this._ The vessel lurched and he steadied it. "Easy…" he said, coaxing the vehicle into a smooth and stable course.

He released an unsteady breath. Was this what Cahla Sin'b meant when she told him he'd been given a _gift?_ Whatever it was, gift or curse, for once he was grateful to have it.

Now that he had the vessel under control, he looked out over the star field. The shadowy planet was just barely visible in the view port's lower left. It floated into view, like a buoy adrift at sea. Tom watched it for a moment, the beauty of it surprising him. Like a milky marble streaked with pale greens and blues, it seemed a paradise from space, quiet and peaceful.

 _"Do not let outer appearances deceive you,"_ Cahla Sin'b had said. She was speaking of this beat up old shuttle because knew its capabilities, but the same words applied to the peaceful planet that hung quietly suspended before him in the blackness of space. If the plan went ahead, he'd soon be reacquainted with its dangers when he once again set foot on its surface.

Chakotay had briefed him on the risks of this mission. Setting a trap for those criminals would be risky for the hostages as well as those involved in the effort to rescue them. Tom knew the chances he took in accepting his part, but he didn't question. It was what he'd wanted, to go back and find B'Elanna, bring her home.

 _Not much time._

He directed his attention back to the spacecraft. He'd take it through some tight maneuvers and see how well she could handle it. "Alright, baby, let's see what you've got." The craft spun around and the planet slipped from view.

* * *

After a near perfect test flight, Tom settled the alien craft back onto the Allorian shuttle bay deck. The hatch beside him popped open, and a breeze tossed his hair as the atmosphere stabilized. _Damn, what a ride._ He sat for a moment, reliving the intricate maneuvers of the ship's graceful flight. For a brief moment he felt guilty, as if he'd just cheated on the Delta Flyer. That's all right; he'd make it up to her. He'd take B'Elanna out for a spin and—

He caught himself. _Keep your head, Tom, the mission hasn't even started yet. You may not make it out alive._

Bringing his thoughts back to reality, he looked down; the seat had returned to its normal state. He lifted his arms and saw no residue; the gel was completely gone.

Cahla Sin'b stood at the open hatch, watching him expectantly. The Worace, who'd scattered on take off, had gathered in again, yelping and howling their excitement.

"What's the matter," Tom shouted over the din, "Didn't they think I could do it?"

"No," said Sin'b, "They did not."

"Oh," Tom muttered, disturbed that these primitive creatures would think so little of him. "Thanks fellas, that's encouraging."

He swung his legs over the hatchway and hopped out of the cockpit. "It handled pretty well. I think it should do the job alright." He confidently slapped the side of the vehicle, trying to look unimpressed with it. A hollow thud echoed through the open bay, and flakes of rust showered the floor. "If it holds together, that is."

"Do not worry, Mister Paris," she said, "The damage is merely cosmetic."

"Yeah, well," he said, studying the 'cosmetic damage' more closely. "If you say so."

The worace had quieted down, returning to the business of loading up the shuttle with the equipment they'd need on the surface.

Seeing that they were now ignoring him, Tom took the ambassador aside, "How did you know I could fly that thing when _I_ didn't even know?"

"I was curious about your race," she said somewhat apologetically, "You remember, I was there when they brought you onboard."

Hijacked was more like it, but who was _he_ to mince words? Tom remembered the frosted window in the cryogenic unit and the Allorian looming above it studying him. "I remember thinking you were—"

"Sadistic," she said, as if it pained her to know it. "Yes, I sensed it. I reached into your mind just before you went into stasis. It _was_ pity I felt for you. Our kind had offended you and stolen from you that which is most precious."

Tom couldn't bear to hear her continue with this strand, to have her talk about B'Elanna or the Captain would be too much.

She seemed aware of his feelings and went on quickly to answer his question. "You are a natural pilot. I at least learned that much from you. And with the accidental enhancement you received from the blood of the Worace, I naturally concluded—"

"Wait a minute," Tom interrupted, " _Enhancement?_ Is that what you call it?"

"Perhaps the term is offensive?" she said, "I am sorry. It is the expression we use when we train the worace. They are not born with a natural affinity toward us. The enhancement is a process we use to maintain our symbiotic relationship. It binds them to us and makes our community stronger."

"I see," Tom said. The worace were, in essence, their slaves. That would explain their shabby clothes and the cold atmosphere in their part of the ship. This bit of information didn't boost his confidence in the Allorians or the mission. "Will they go through with this? Can I trust them down there?"

"Do not worry," she said, "Their primitive minds do not comprehend like yours or mine. They are used to working for Allorians, and would be lost if ever the relationship was severed."

"But they'll be working for me," he said, "I'm not Allorian."

"I have given them explicit instruction," she insisted. Her lips formed a tight line, then she said, "They _will_ follow you."

He glanced over at the worace working near the shuttle. For a moment one of them looked back; he detected mischief in the deep-set yellow eyes. "I hope you're right," he said.

Another Allorian approached from the shuttle bay entrance. This new alien was taller by a head than Cahla Sin'b and heavier set. Tom assumed it was male, but then one never could tell with an alien race. It was carrying a medium sized pack. Tom recognized it as being from Voyager.

The Allorian held it out to him. _From your commander._

 _Thanks._

Damn! He spoke telepathically…again! "Thanks." he repeated aloud, pronouncing the consonants very clearly so his ears would hear it.

The new Allorian departed and Tom unzipped the bag.

"You are fortunate to have such a commander," Cahla Sin'b said, "He is very shrewd and yet…how should I say it without offending?"

"Go ahead," Tom said without looking up, "I'm sure it's been said before."

"Stubborn," she concluded. "It took several hours of negotiation to bring your doctor here to release you. We worked very hard to convince him we did not intend to harm to you or your ship when we retrieved the prisoners from your brig. We just wanted to bring them into custody."

"He's like that," Tom replied, "He takes offense to an alien race boarding his ship without his permission, stealing his prisoners and hijacking two of his crewmen in the process."

"Yes. As would I," she said, "I apologized to him for your capture, and now I must apologize to you. It was a grievous mistake, and I am sorry for what you have been through, but…if it had not happened, I would not have gotten to know you and your kind as I have. So in a way, I am glad of it."

"It's certainly been interesting." Tom said, not wanting to get philosophical with the Allorian. All this _was_ their fault after all. He was still searching the contents of the bag, when his hand wrapped around something that held some promise. Food, maybe? When he pulled it out, he held in his grasp three bland nutritional supplement bars. "Great. More insulation." One day very soon, he'd replicate himself the biggest bucket of fried chicken…

A faint blip came from deep within the bag and Tom dug around in it until he found its source. His hand closed around the object; it was a combadge. Setting the bag down, he attached the new communicator to his now slightly rumpled uniform. It blipped again.

"Paris," he said.

"Looks like you can fly that shuttle with no problem," said the commander.

Tom laughed. It was a relief to have contact with Voyager again. "Piece o' cake."

"You'll have to tell me about it when this is all over." Chakotay said, "Are you're ready to go?"

Chakotay was anxious to get started. Tom looked over at the shuttle and saw that the worace were putting in the last of the supplies. "Fifteen minutes. I've got to run through the plan with my band of merry men, here."

"Alright," said Chakotay, "I'll see you at the rendezvous point."

The worace looked like a rough band of hoodlums to Tom, but the ambassador had just assured him they would follow his lead. They'd better, or there'd be hell to pay.

"I will pray for you," said Cahla Sin'b. She lightly touched his hand, and Tom felt her assurance. Then she turned and walked back toward the shuttle bay entrance.

Tom rubbed his hand where she'd touched it; he could still feel the unnerving sensation of her cool fingers on his skin. He didn't know what kind of deity the Allorians prayed to. It was too strange to contemplate. What really mattered right now was this motley band of worace he'd take with him to that planet. They had to follow him or all would be lost.

He picked up the bag and walked toward them.


	16. Initiation

As Tom walked toward the Allorian shuttle, and the primitive Worace who were loading it with supplies, he sensed a sudden change. Something harsh and abrasive now pushed through to his consciousness. He wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but when Cahla Sin'b departed from the shuttle deck, it was as if she took with her the buffer that kept the primal thoughts of these ungainly creatures at bay.

The ambassador had been calm and reserved. Even though she would occasionally intrude on his thoughts, she at least tried to be considerate, but these creatures didn't look in any way diplomatic or agreeable. Their pointed teeth and razor-sharp claws gave Tom the impression that before the Allorians enslaved them, the Worace were quite used to having their own way. He wondered how much Sin'b had been controlling them while she was on the shuttle deck, and what he might have to do to keep them under control in her absence.

As he came closer to them, he felt a surprising urge to turn and run the other way.

 _Coward,_ he scolded himself _, Get a grip. They're only dogs._

He lowered the bag he'd been clutching like a life preserver, down to his side and relaxed his shoulders. If these creatures were in any way telepathic, they could probably sense his unease. If they did, it would undermine his authority and that was _not_ an option. It would take a lot of control to appear calm and in charge in front of these primal animals. Somehow, Tom had to conceal his apprehension.

Well, if Tuvok could control his emotions, Tom Paris could too.

 _Right._ It was a long shot, but it was all he could think of.

Pushing his fear to the back of his mind, as far as he possibly could, he set the bag down and cleared his throat.

One by one the Worace ceased their activities to stare at him. Beady yellow eyes studied him with predatory interest. Sizing him up as if he were a side of beef. Even the smallest of them looked hungry, its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth, saliva dripping to the floor in messy splotches.

Tom's heart raced, not directly from fear, but from something he couldn't quite place. As he searched for what he would say to open things up, one of them spoke first.

"You come to _lead_ us?" The remark given in a low, rough voice was laced with sarcasm.

These animals could speak; a surprising but welcome bit of information. Tom shifted his eyes to the largest member of the group. It was at least half a meter taller than him. It stood stoop-shouldered and scraped its claw on the side of a metal crate. Tom's teeth ground involuntarily at the resulting screech.

"Be our captain," it said emphasizing the last word with a hiss, then a rumbling growl issued from deep within its throat. The others yipped and shifted in excitement.

"I will," Tom said, forcing up as much bravado as he could. He knew they were baiting him. It was a test. He'd have to prove he was "man" enough to lead them, but he'd be sliced to pieces if he attempted to fight.

"Got a problem with that?" The words had left his lips before he knew what was happening, and all at once he felt the peculiar air of excitement that these creatures seemed to generate. His heart raced even more, and he couldn't calm it. It was as if he was becoming one of them. The mood was strangely intoxicating, playing to his own baser instincts, and he discovered to his utter amazement that he actually wanted a fight.

Their leader seemed to delight in Tom's defiance. Its eyes lit up in a flash, and it licked its lips in anticipation. It didn't move but it held its gaze on him. "Got one big problem down on that planet," it said, "Worace settle that one quick." Its claw sliced a hole in the metal crate and the creature ripped it open as easily as if it was made of paper. "Don't need puny human _captain_." It clicked its claws together making an eerie scraping sound. The others climbed down from the shuttle and gathered around the two, leaving them in the center of the formed circle.

A small part of himself, over which Tom still had control, told him this was a very bad idea. _Very, very bad._ There was no way in hell he'd survive a simple disagreement with these creatures, let alone a physical challenge. But it had come to that, and he would see it through or die trying. (Or was it _and_ die trying…)

The creature crouched and moved forward, its claws extended. The action would be over before Tom could even move.

 _Think…_

It was impossible. The primal feeling was overwhelming, and the small voice of reason shrank even farther down until he could hear it no more. He glanced at the group behind his adversary and his eyes landed on the small creature with the lolling tongue. Its simple mind was as soft as clay, and it would do.

The creature's tongue zipped back into its mouth and it stared at Tom as it bent down reaching for a metal pipe that lay by its foot.

 _Yeah, that's it little guy, pick it up…_

Just as the leader was about to spring, the pipe whizzed through the air like a baseball bat. It didn't connect with the leader's head, but it came close enough for the leader to catch the bar in its clawed grip and rip it from the little one's grasp. The little one shrank away and cowered behind a stack of crates, obviously expecting retribution.

"Human think he Allorian!" The leader announced, a sneer crossed its lips and it tossed the pipe aside.

Dumbfounded, Tom didn't know what had just happened. Somehow he'd used another creature as a weapon and couldn't for the life of him figure out how he did it.

"Stick to real weapons," the leader said to Tom, "This small trick not get you far. Don't know if you brave or foolish, but you have spirit. We let you go with us."

 _Terrific._ The animals accepted him, for all it was worth.

"Try that trick on Allorians down on that planet," it continued, "Make you a dead human quick." It motioned to the others to resume their work, then turned back to Tom. "Allorians care not for you, not for your people. They trick you…feed you lies."

"And you speak the truth." Tom responded curtly, impatient to finally begin the mission.

Its eyes narrowed. "You think Cahla Sin'b your ally."

Tom glared up at the beast. "She's helping us get our people back."

"Why you think she not go down there herself?"

"She expects you to do the fighting for her," Tom replied, his anger building from this line of questioning. "Isn't that the way it works around here?"

The creature laughed, "She too close to those Allorians. She not know _what_ to do." It leaned in closer and Tom stood his ground, resisting the urge to retreat. "Their leader is her _husband._ "

A blip sounded from Tom's combadge and he absently tapped it. _Her husband._

"Paris here."

"It's time. Are you ready?"

Chakotay's voice brought Tom's mind back to the mission. "I'm ready," he said and he watched the creature climb into the shuttle to join the others already inside. The beady yellow eyes of the strange cargo glowed like embers in the darkened hold.

What in hell had he gotten himself into.

Tom closed the hatch, and for the time being separated himself from their dark and foreboding world.

* * *

He couldn't think of any reason why Cahla Sin'b should conceal the fact that it was her husband who had taken the away team hostage, unless that knowledge would somehow change things. Tom hopped into the cockpit and thew his bag of supplies to the side. He heard the whine of the ship's engines starting up. The gel glided over his arms, a cool sensation slowly enveloped him, sending chills through his body. Now he wished he were piloting the Delta Flyer, but the commander and his team were flying her.

The ship hovered a few meters above the alien shuttle deck as the hatch closed, sealing him inside. He looked out over the spacious shuttle bay. He wouldn't set foot on this vessel again and he was glad. The next time he stepped onto the floor of a shuttle bay it would be Voyager's and B'Elanna would be with him, or he wouldn't be back at all.

The bay door slid open like a giant eye, as if the shuttle's engines had awakened a sleeping cyclops. The patterned array of stars revealed through the portal shone bright.

It's now or never.

This time, when he launched the ship out into space he led it on a straight and steady course.


	17. Misty River

The sea of stars sat tranquil and oblivious to the dangers the Voyager crew faced with the onset of their hazardous rescue mission. Only one point of light mattered and that was the one that the Delta Flyer gave off when entering the atmosphere of the planet below. Tom saw the flash as they penetrated through the barrier and descended into the mist and the unknown.

He brought his own shuttle in line with the previous path of the Delta Flyer and began his descent. In a few moments he would find out if this craft would actually hold together like Cahla Sin'b promised. There was only one way to find out.

The tumultuous entry into the atmosphere wasn't apparent from the inside of the vehicle, the ride was virtually turbulence-free, but he could see some of what was happening outside the view ports. Plasma mixed with the particles breaking away from the craft and gave off a colorful light show. Sparks and debris skimmed by, some pieces colliding against the glass and one another. When a particularly large piece about the size of a football clamored past, on fire and glowing in a variety of intense colors, Tom's stomach twisted into a knot. He stopped watching then. It was a good thing there were no view ports in the cargo hold. Those Worace would probably hack each other to bits in fright.

He eased the shuttlecraft down into the thin mist of the upper atmosphere. The Delta Flyer would be on the ground by now, but he couldn't see her. The mist's heavy bottom layer swallowed everything, including communications. Tom could only hope for the best and land at the predetermined coordinates.

A clearing came into view, and he recognized it as the cliff where, at the start of all this, they had set up CommBase. He was too high up to see the unit itself, so there was no telling if it still functioned or if it had been destroyed. It was sobering to know that this was also the place where Ensign Renning had died so horribly. His remains likely spread far and wide by those murderous animals.

Six of those same creatures were in the back of the vessel he now flew, and they were supposed to be under his command. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. They would follow him all right; Cahla Sin'b was absolute about that. She even seemed put-off by his doubts. Should he have trusted her? She hadn't _directly_ told a lie, but she did omit certain information, like the fact that the leader of the renegade Allorians was her husband.

He found the landing site and set the craft gently down on the soggy terrain. A white blanket of mist shrouded the shuttle, cutting vision down to a bare minimum. Moisture beaded almost instantly and began to run down the outside of the view ports.

The gel that confined him in the command chair receded, breaking Tom's mental connection to the shuttle controls. He hoped that would be the last time he'd have the sensation of that cool, gritty slime gliding over his skin. It would be a damned good thing when he could fly the 'natural' way again.

When the command hatch popped open, the mist crawled in, its tendrils gliding over every surface. The ravenous vapor seemed to have a life of its own, seeking to consume everything that came into its world.

A series of scraping and thumping sounds came from the cargo hold. _The troops are getting restless_ , he thought. Unzipping his bag of supplies and reaching in, he found the phaser rifle Chakotay had sent him. He had brought Allorian weapons, but he felt better with a Federation issue, sturdy and dependable in his hand.

Tom hopped out of the shuttle, his feet landing in slurry-soft mud that oozed up to his ankles. _Not a dry spot on this blessed planet._

Except for the occasional noises from the Worace milling around, the place was eerily quiet. Tom looked around for any signs of approaching life forms and found nothing but shadow and mist. If the enemy were nearby, he wouldn't know it until it was too late. He set the rifle to stun.

He pulled out a jacket and was shrugging into it when one of the Worace tapped his shoulder. "Ow," he said with a hiss. The claw had sliced through the material in his jacket and scraped his shoulder. "Watch where you point that thing."

"We ready," it said and sloshed through the muck back to the cargo hold.

Tom grabbed the rifle and followed, rubbing out the annoying pain in his shoulder. With each step he plunged further into the slime. This had to be the most miserable planet in the entire quadrant.

The Worace didn't seem to mind though; they had wasted no time since landing. They had already pulled some heavy crates from the cargo hold.

"Look like you need better weapon," their leader said. It had withdrawn a hefty gun from inside one of the crates. Holding it up, he caressed the smooth black metal. "This one nice. Make clean hole in Allorian, not much blood. Better for soft human sensibilities." It laughed with a bark, an echo of yips resounded from the other Worace. "We go hunt Allorians, now?"

"No," said Tom. However badly he wanted to find the Allorians and the away team, he had to allow Chakotay to do his part. "We wait."

The Worace narrowed its eyes at him in disbelief. "Allorians take your people, and you not want revenge?" It snorted in disgust. The Worace gestured to Tom then to itself. "They have no soul like you and me. They destroy you when they get chance. You watch, and you see."

"Then be ready. Your opportunity may come," Tom said, trying controlling his rising anger, "But while there's a chance my friends are still alive, you'll do it my way."

"Human way is timid." The Worace scowled. "Your commander, he go _beg_ them. "You think maybe they be sorry and give your people back to you."

"It's called negotiation. Maybe you've heard of it." The argument wore Tom's patience thin. "Just be ready," he said, "I'm going to look around." He sloshed through the muck around the front of the shuttle, his fingers toying with the phaser setting. What if the negotiations failed? Worse yet, the Allorians could kill Chakotay and his men, and Tom would never know about it. _Give him an hour,_ he thought _, that should be enough._

He saw a slight rise up ahead and went toward it. The ground was a little more solid and he could walk easier. Getting away from the Worace for at least a few minutes seemed the right thing to do. Their emotions were too raw, too primitive, and it aggravated his already strung-out emotional state.

As he came closer to the ridge, he heard a faint hiss from somewhere deep inside the fog, Not sure of the sound, Tom slowly raised his weapon and listened. Then his shoulders relaxed. Hidden somewhere deep within the mist was a waterfall, and far below this ridge there must be a river. This planet wasn't completely still and dead. That gave him some reassurance.

"What you want us to do?" said a low, harsh voice.

Startled, Tom jumped back away from the ridge. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"Would use your name, maybe not surprise you so much," it said, "but you not give your name. You just like Allorians. We who come to help have names but you not bother to know them."

Tom had been so single minded on the mission, that he'd neglected his first duty as a leader. He had only considered the Worace as a means to an end. Like it or not, he was their commander, and he had to start acting like it.

"You're right," he said, feeling a bit foolish, "The name's Paris." His hand started to go out, but he drew it back. Shaking hands with the Worace could result in a loss of fingers.

"I called Magrath." The Worace said, "Now we know each other. We go hunt Allorian's now?"

"I said 'no.'" Just how thick _were_ their skulls anyway?

"It a joke. You have no humor," said Magrath, "We ready now. When you say go, we go."

"Right," Tom said, and walked back toward the shuttle with Magrath at his side.

 _No humor._ This Worace wasn't exactly a stand-up comedian himself, but if they had to wait, it would be a good idea to get to learn more about these creatures under his command.

"So, Magrath…tell me all you know about these Allorians."

* * *

Tom sat in the shuttle's open cargo hatch, studying the black weapon Magrath had shown him earlier. The more he looked at it, the more he appreciated its fine craftsmanship. It was sleek and smooth, and quite deadly.

The other Worace had taken to wrestling each other in the muck and occasionally Tom felt a cold splat of mud hit his face and clothing. Only Magrath stood by, keeping a sharp eye on his younger charges.

Tom lifted the weapon up and sighted on a tree. "You're right, Magrath. You can see farther with the sighting. The top of that tree over there is clear as crystal."

"Paris want to use this weapon?"

"I don't know. It's bulky," he said, "I'd have to try it first." He stood and sighted another tree, away from the wrestling troops. Aiming at the highest branch, which Tom estimated to be about ten centimeters in diameter, he released a slow breath and pulled back on the trigger. Heat built up in the rifle as it fired a clear blue streak of plasma. The tracer arched and they heard a splintering crack as it severed the limb on impact. No kick, just a clean shot. "Trigger's a little tight."

The muddy Worace jumped and howled. It seemed that they were easily amused.

"You like this weapon," Magrath said.

Tom nodded, "I like."

"Then use it."

Tom picked up a cloth and wiped splotches of mud off the weapon's smooth barrel. "This Allorian we're up against…Goran Sin'b. You said he destroyed your home world?"

"It not destroyed, but it no longer supports life," Magrath said. "Do not look so surprised, it not unusual for Allorians to do things like that. Like I said, they have no souls." Unexpectedly, Magrath jumped up and leaped on two other Worace who'd gone from wrestling to an out-and-out brawl. He broke them up, sending them in opposite directions to cool down. "They just bored," he said when he came back, "Fighting come natural to Worace, but these days it too dangerous."

"Yeah, I imagine they can slice each other up pretty good."

"That nothing. Worace like to do that," Magrath said, and then he scowled, "That one thing we do that make Allorians crazy. So their scientists fix us good. They make so we die if we get in bad fight. You know. You've seen."

Tom stopped wiping the gun and looked at him.

Magrath narrowed his eyes, and prompted, "What happen to Worace you kill before?"

They had virtually melted down to the bones, disintegrating almost instantly after death, but Tom didn't want Magrath to know he'd killed any Worace. "It was…" He searched for words but found none.

"No grudges, Paris. You defended your commander. It was right thing to do." Magrath shrugged, "Worace strong fighters, but die easy. It the way of things." He sauntered out into the open area beside the shuttle. "You got a little Worace in you, Paris. Come, I teach you how to fight."

"No thanks," Tom said flexing his clawless hand, "I don't like being the underdog."

Magrath straightened, slowly turning and sniffing the air. His ears pricked up and a low guttural sound issued from his throat. Tom tightened his grip on the alien weapon. He could see nothing, but he could sense a dark malevolence seeping into the very atmosphere. They would have company very soon. The troops gathered in behind Magrath. He scattered them into defensive positions.

"You want I take care of this?" Magrath growled. "It be a pleasure…"

"No," Tom hissed, "We do this my way."

Magrath quieted down, but still crouched, ready to launch at his enemy in a flash.

A dark figure came toward them through the mist. Tom stepped forward, drawing his weapon up. "Don't come any closer."

The figure paused. "Lower your weapon, Tom. It's me."


	18. From the Depths

_Lower your weapon, Tom. It's me._

Tom lowered it a little, still feeling unsettled. It was Chakotay, but there were others with him, three Allorians and a security detachment from Voyager close behind.

The disheveled appearance of the long-awaited enemy was surprising. The Allorians looked as if they hadn't had food for days, their thin blue skin was drawn tightly over sharply angular bones. The condition of their clothing rivaled that of the Worace, worn and filthy from living in these muddy conditions for so long. They were so pathetic in appearance, that Tom wouldn't consider them a threat at all if it weren't for the sharp malevolence in their black eyes.

Chakotay was immersed in negotiations, and redirected his full attention to the Allorians. Tom couldn't hear most of what was being said, because it was spoken in low tones, but the commander soon brought him into the dialogue. "Goran, Lt. Paris supervised the shipment and brought it here himself from Cahla Sin'b's vessel."

"You bring what we requested, human?" Goran said, directing the inquiry to Tom.

Tom flashed a look at Chakotay. The commander nodded, giving him permission to respond. "Yes. Everything."

The alien stepped closer then and the dark feeling of malevolence grew stronger, like a loathsome spider lurking in the shadows, hunting for prey.

Tom's newly acquired weapon seemed to grow heavier in his hands, covertly reminding him of its presence. He tightened his grip and ran his finger along of the smooth curve of the trigger.

"Voyager will provide safe passage for you and your people," Chakotay continued, stepping forward, keeping within a few strides of the Allorian. "Cahla Sin'b has given her assurances that you will not be pursued."

"If she assures it, then it must be so," Goran responded, his rough voice laden with sarcasm. After a cursory glance over the shipment, he turned to face Chakotay once again. "These Worace are pathetic," he said, "No good to us. And this shuttle...does she expect me to accept this?"

"It is what you requested." said Chakotay, "She has been honorable in her dealings with this matter so far."

"Cahla Sin'b knows nothing of honor!" the Allorian said, "She knows only lies and deceit. If you trust her, then you have fallen under her spell as I once did, long ago."

While Goran spoke, the Worace slowly began to move in from their positions. Tom sensed that the other two Allorians who stood apart from the negotiations were telepathically manipulating the creatures, putting them into positions that would threaten the Voyager crewmen. If the Allorians took control of them, the Worace sharp claws and teeth would be deadly weapons

Magrath's eyes glinted with malice.

 _'Back, Magrath.'_ Tom countered the Allorian commands with his own brand of telepathy. _'Don't listen to them.'_

Magrath understood and whipped around, snapping his sharp teeth at his underlings to scatter them back.

 _'So this human knows a few tricks.'_ Goran black eyes locked onto Tom's.

"They're under my command, Goran," Tom said. "I won't allow you to use them against us."

"I too know a few tricks," Goran said, and an immediate change came over the alien's features. Captain Janeway's face formed over Goran's, melding with the Allorian's thin blue features in a grotesque display. Her voice echoed in Tom's head. ' _I trusted you, Lieutenant. I gave you a second chance when no one else would dare, and this is how you repay me.'_

Tom's anger flared, "Don't."

"You prefer this one instead?" Janeway's features slid away and B'Elanna stood before him, battered and bruised as if she'd been severely beaten. ' _How could you let this happen, Tom? You promised to protect me_.'

Enraged, Tom whipped up the rifle, and drew a bead on Goran's forehead. "I'll kill you."

"No." Chakotay was beside him in a second, grasping the rifle barrel.

Tom held firm to his aim, barely registering Chakotay's presence. Never before was he so consumed by such an intense desire to kill. A fire burned within him, and here was a sure way to put it out. One pull of the trigger would end it.

"Stand down, Lieutenant." The commander's voice retained an air of calm control, but he too was on edge. In a lower tone he added, "Don't let him provoke you."

Tom's gaze broke from the Allorian, and he saw the commander's dark eyes intent on him. He was allowing the alien to goad him, and he was about to risk everything because of his complete lack of self-restraint. Slowly, he relented. Hands shaking, he lowered the weapon.

A smug look of triumph crossed Goran's withered face. "You are reckless. Take a lesson from your commander," he said, "If you want your people to live, you will not be so foolish."

Chakotay's hand dropped to his side, he fastened Goran with a cold and deadly gaze. "Be warned," he said, "If our people are harmed in any way, I'll kill you myself."

For a fleeting moment, Tom saw apprehension in the alien's face. Goran wasn't as confident as he led on.

"We are finished here," Goran said, back to full arrogance. "What you bring me is not satisfactory."

"We made a deal," Chakotay said, "We kept up our end. Now you keep yours."

"The deal has changed. Give us your Voyager, and Sin'b will not dare pursue us."

"Impossible."

"Then you would watch them die."

Another group came out of the mist. Then Tom saw what made his heart skip a beat: the away team.

* * *

A light of defiance shone from B'Elanna's eyes, when they brought her forward with the rest of the away team. She appeared to be unhurt under the layer of grime and Tom was heartened. He had an overwhelming urge to go to her, but the Allorians had weapons of their own, so he could do nothing yet.

Chakotay's mask of calm reserve held. "This threat will not stand, Goran." he said, "You would do well to let them go. Take this shuttle and leave as we agreed."

"Give me Voyager and they will not be harmed."

"No, Goran," it was Captain Janeway who spoke this time. She favored her left leg; it was bound up in a makeshift splint. A young ensign supported her as she stepped forward. Her voice was clear and strong despite her obvious injury. "I told you before. You will not have my ship."

"You won't succeed, Goran," Chakotay added, "For the last time, take this shuttle and save yourselves or face the consequences."

"I have nothing to lose." Goran smiled. "But you do."

Another Allorian seized the crewman who had supported the captain. A strangled cry went up and the ensign collapsed in a heap, blood gushing from a gash in his throat.

A shrill cry of, "No!" pierced the air, signaling action. Time slowed as everything began to happen at once. Janeway lunged toward the ensign, reaching out to him; B'Elanna grasped the captain's arm in restraint. Chakotay had drawn his phaser and was leveling it at the enemy.

Tom also leveled his own weapon on Goran and this time no one would stop him. As he pulled the trigger, an object lobbed into the midst of the commotion. Tom had a fleeting realization that the object had come from somewhere in the ranks of the Allorians. Goran's knees buckled. Tom's shot had hit the target.

Then everything vanished in a flash of white, and it seemed that a train hit, slamming Tom to the ground.

* * *

Drums.

Tom lifted his head off the soggy muck. It wasn't drums. It was feet pounding the muddy ground all around him. Sound slowly edged back to him, and he could hear shots and shouted orders.

He found the weapon that had flown from his hands and pulled it out of the sludge. Pushing himself up to his knees, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. A grenade?

Something hit the side of his head, almost sending him plunging back down. He squinted up, eyes attempting to focus on his attacker. It was Magrath, a gleam of sheer joy in his beady eyes.

"We hunt now?"

"Sure." Tom replied judging by Magrath's good humor, he had already been doing so. "Go for it."

Magrath whooped and charged headlong into the mist.

"Paris!" Janeway was on the ground, not far from Tom.

He struggled to his feet and went to her. "Captain—"

Her leg was twisted around underneath her and she hissed in pain when he attempted to help her up.

"Leave me here," she said, "Goran's gone. He took B'Elanna with him."

"Where?"

She gestured toward a trampled gap in the undergrowth. "Through there. Go!"

Tom ran to the gap and plunged in. Leaves and branches were trampled and broken, so Goran's trail was easy to follow. He was wounded and dragging along an unwilling hostage; he wouldn't get far. Tom heard B'Elanna's voice up ahead, and knew he would catch up with them.

He reached the end of the foliage and came out into a clearing. She screamed. Running toward the sound, he came upon a lone figure standing at the edge of the steep riverbank.

"B'Elanna," Tom said, speaking softly so not to startle her.

She looked at him. "He—he fell."

Tom lowered the rifle to his side and went to her. She collapsed in his arms. He felt her tremble, held her as she cried. "Shh," he said, "It's over now." He lifted his hand to brush back her hair, and he saw blood.

It wasn't red.

He tried to pull away but the imposter shifted, and Tom felt the bright pain in his side.

Goran released him and Tom fell to his knees. He felt his side and the warmth of his own blood. "Son-of-a bitch."

"Save her now human," Goran said, "If you live."

Tom reached for the weapon that had slipped from his grasp. Goran drew the blade back for a second time but didn't follow through…he fell, a single shot entering his skull.

Chakotay stood at the edge of the clearing, just lowering his phaser.

Tom got up on his feet, and stumbled to the edge. There was no sign of his wife in the mist that blanketed the river. "B'Elanna!" The only response was the sound of the swirling waters. He'd never find her this way.

"Tom!" Chakotay's voice was urgent, as if he knew what Tom was thinking. The commander started toward him.

B'Elanna was down there and Tom saw his only choice. He stepped off the edge and fell into nothing, bracing himself for the water to hit him like a wall. The sting of impact came mercifully fast. He brought himself up to the surface, drew in a lungful of air and dove down into the murky waters. Cold and fear numbed him to the pain. Groping in the blackness, his hands found slime-covered plants that slipped like ribbon through his fingers. Thousands of small specks danced in the dark water, playing games with his vision.

 _She has to be here._

He was about to turn to go another way, when his hand brushed against something solid. He dove down and grasped cloth. ' _B'Elanna.'_ Finding her arm he pulled. She was a dead weight in his hands not responding to his urgent push to the surface.

With each successive stroke he searched for a break in the water.

Just when he thought he'd drown before finding it, his arm broke through to cool air. He felt as if his heart would burst before he took in the crisp air.

As he lifted B'Elanna to the surface, Tom began to feel the sharp pain from his wound. But he pushed on to a low slope on the embankment, determined not to lose B'Elanna when he finally found her. When he reached the embankment, he pulled her limp form out of the water.

She was pale, her lips blue. Tom dropped, exhausted, to her side. He leaned down to check her breathing.

"Please, B'Elanna."

Suddenly, she coughed, choking on the water expelling from her lungs. He pushed her onto her side to keep her from taking the water back in.

When her coughing subsided, he eased her gently back.

He heard voices and looked up to see Chakotay and two others climbing down the embankment toward them.

"It's alright, B'Elanna," he said, "It's over now. You're safe." Though she didn't speak, her eyes told him all he needed to know. She smiled weakly, her lower lip trembling. A single tear slid down her temple. He ran his thumb over it, to brush it away, to savor it.

"Tom," she said, her voice faint and sobbing.

"You're a miracle," he said and he kissed her.

* * *

A week later…

"Ow, no…that still hurts," he said.

"Sorry," she said, "How's this?"

"That's it." Tom drew his arm around B'Elanna's shoulders. She snuggled in and settled her head comfortably on his chest. It was good to have this time together in their quarters, away from everything. They lay there for a few quiet moments, cozy in the covers, each reluctant to break the silence they both savored.

But after a while the question came. "Do you think we'll ever cross paths with their kind again?"

The Allorians were, from what Cahla Sin'b had told him, branching out into the quadrant in their quest for space. He thought it was a possibility, however unlikely, that they might meet up with them again. Would it comfort her to hear this answer? She was still shaken, still vulnerable from her ordeal on that now distant planet. He hugged her body closer to him and sighed, taking in a warm pleasurable feeling. "I don't think so." He drew lazy circles on her shoulder and he heard her sigh. "I'll tell you one thing though," he said, "If we ever do meet up with them again, I'm not letting you out of my sight for a second."

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. He hoped she saw sincerity, and he was mildly surprised when she giggled. "I love you." She ran her finger gently along his jaw, and there was hunger in her eyes.

"Is that so?" Her soft touch left him in eager anticipation.

"Yeah…" She cupped the back of his neck and pulled him in for a long, deep kiss.

A chirp from a combadge interrupted them.

"Sickbay to Lt. Paris."

"He's looking for me." Tom said.

"Ignore him." She said nipping his ear.

"He wants to start those treatments," he said, "Seems nobody wants me around. They always think I'm eavesdropping on their thoughts."

She propped herself up on her elbow. "Tell me what I'm thinking."

"I don't need to be a telepath to know what's on your mind."

A devilish smile crossed her lips and she pulled the covers over them both.

"B'Elanna…" he said in mild reprimand, "Ooh…I think the doctor can wait," he said, the blanket muffling his voice, "another hour or three…or four."

* * *

The End.


End file.
